Aeliniel
by stuffsuchasdreamsaremadeon
Summary: Her existence had long passed into legend, turned into a fairytale of battle and glory. Nearly a thousand years later, she awakes from her deep slumber, to find that the Middle-earth she once knew is greatly changed and in peril. Tenth walker, no MS
1. Prologue

Pippin bit his lip as he knelt, gently placing the back of his hand against Frodo's forehead for some sign, some reassurance that perhaps things would be alright after all. "I'm so sorry, Frodo," he murmured as he quickly withdrawn his trembling fingers; the icy sweat pouring from his friend's forehead was both unnatural and unnerving. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself, shivering as the cool night air swirled around them and looked to Merry, whose hand was ready at the hilt of his small blade as they waited.

"Should they be taking this long?" Merry continued to stare out into the darkness, his eyes scanning the trees visible by the glow of the firelight. His voice was quiet and soft against the unfamiliar sounds of the night, so different from the crickets and bird-song of the Shire that they both were accustomed to. Pippin moved to stand beside him, watching his friend closely out of the corner of his eye as he softly replied. "Strider knows what he doing. I'm quite sure he and Sam will be fine." He attempted a faint smile that was lost on Merry, who anxiously began to pace back and forth under the shadows of Bilbo's trolls.

"This is my fault."

Pippin stood silently, taking note of the anguish in his voice before carefully stepping to place a hand on his shoulder. Merry looked up and swallowed hard, his eyes glistening in the firelight. "Don't blame yourself, Merry. Frodo will be fine, you'll see, and he'll back us buy for him every time we see him in the Dragon." He smiled gently, biting his lip to force back the tears that pricked his own eyes. "I promise."

_Crack._

They both froze, slowing meeting each other's eyes as they listened. Pippin watched Merry's hand tighten further on his blade, slowly drawing it from the sheath and moved his own hand to grip the unfamiliar hilt in reply. Frodo groaned from the forest floor and Merry quickly looked down to him, and then shifted his focus once more to the darkness when a crunch resounded from behind them.

Pippin whirled around, awkwardly drawing his blade as terror coursed through him, imagining the dark cloaks of the Riders swirling through the midnight forest just beyond where the light of the torches fell, their faceless hoods blending with the shadows as they strode towards their prize. Their blades would gleam as wickedly in the pale moonlight as they had only two days ago, forged in distant flames. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself as he searched for any remnant of courage he had left, and opened his eyes as he prepared himself to be faced with the Riders.

There was nothing. Pippin glanced towards Merry, who was biting his lip in concentration as he slowly turned to scan the surrounding darkness. His voice was low as he spoke, breathless with fear. "There's something out there." Pippin was silent. There was no need to agree. "No matter what happens," Merry shifted his gaze and gave a small, curt nod towards him, "Protect Frodo." Pippin glanced towards Frodo for a moment, who had become eerily silent with wide, seemingly blind eyes, and silently vowed to protect him to the death. "We will, Merry."

"It should seem you have done a poor job of that already."

Pippin whirled around instantly to face the soft voice that had suddenly appeared from the shadows, gripping his blade with a trembling hand. Merry let out a small roar and bounded towards the dark, hooded figure that stood only a few feet away. Pippin cried out for him to stop, watching in horror as his friend swung his small sword clumsily towards the creature. It effortlessly moved to the side, dodging the strike gracefully as the cloak swirled in the night air. Merry lost his balance and staggered as it watched, seemingly bored, as it held up a gloved hand. Once again, the soft voice echoed through the glade. "Withdraw your blade, friend. I mean you no harm."

Merry growled and swung again, clasping the hilt with both hands as he attempted a wide slash. A blade appeared in the figure's hand from the shadows, seeming to appear from nowhere, as it gently parried and flicked its wrist. Pippin watched in horror as Merry's sword flew through the air, glittering in the moonlight as it landed with a soft thud in a bush. He cried out and ran, his heart beating in his ears and mind as adrenaline coursed through him, drawing the blade back to drive it toward the waist of the creature before him. The figure gracefully parried the attack, speaking lowly, "I mean no harm. I am here for the Ringbearer."

"Protect Frodo!" Pippin cried out and wildly began slashing through the air, gasping for air as the weight of the unfamiliar weapon burned through his arm. The figure deftly blocked his attacks and Pippin suddenly noticed the sword was different from those of the wraiths; where theirs had been harsh and tempered with cruel edges, this was beautifully understated with some sort of writing he was unable to make out curving down the blade.

He focused on his attacker's sword for a moment to long and suddenly felt his own twist from his hand and land clumsily a few feet away. He drew his breath, shaking as his eyes slowly traced the length of the blade at his throat towards the black, faceless hood that towered above him. "An admirable effort, though you should focus on your parries on the left." Pippin blinked as the figure strode swiftly passed him, sheathing their strange blades and leaning over Frodo. Pippin overheard a soft gasp and a murmur in a language he could not identify, something that seemed very _old_ to him.

Merry cried out, "Get away from him!" The figure glanced up and Merry angrily ripped the hood back as a growl of protest was uttered. Pippin, standing behind the stranger, saw a wave of dark hair fall over its shoulders, but he quickly moved as he watched Merry's jaw drop, his own eyes widening in surprise as he finally glimpsed the face beneath the dark hood.

A young woman glared at him from a moment before rolling her sleeves and pressing a slender hand to Frodo's forehead, biting her lip as she once again muttered something unintelligible. A lock of her hair fell into her eyes and she absently flicked it aside, moving her hand towards his chest. Merry growled and stepped forward, cutting her off from a groaning Frodo, "Who are you?"

The woman glanced up, as if in surprise and paused for a moment, Pippin noted, as if the question was of some difficulty. Her voice was soft and complimented by a strange accent, "My name is Amera. I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey," Her eyes glittered in the firelight as her gaze shifted to him, "I was sent to help Frodo Baggins along with my companion, though," She perked a brow, "I've no idea who you two are, but clearly your friend is in urgent need of aid." Merry narrowed his eyes slightly as he processed the information and Pippin strode to stand beside him. The woman sighed again and glared, clearly frustrated. "As I've mentioned _frequently_ at this point, I will hurt neither you nor your companion."

They both were silent, Merry glancing around the edge of the glade for Strider or Sam. The woman suddenly drew her blade, shining beautifully in the moonlight, and before either could move, laid it aside and lifted up her hands. Her voice no longer held an edge, but grew desperate. "Please, let me be of what aid I am able." Her strange, lilting voice fell to a pained whisper. "I would not have you lose your friend."

Finally, after a long, uncomfortable moment, Merry turned towards Pippin and gave a small inclination of his head. He stepped out of the way and Amera quickly moved forward, "Where is the wound?"

Pippin spoke out as he watched helplessly. "Above his heart." She nodded and carefully readjusted the folds of his shirt to examine closer, biting her lip as she saw the extent of the wound. As Pippin carefully watched, retrieving his sword and holding it at the ready, she gently brushed the ring to the side as if a nuisance. Amera gently laid a hand on his chest and whispered softly in her strange, lilting voice. He was unable to understand the true meaning of her words, but he felt a gentle stirring of hope rising up in him, pushing aside the pain and fear for the first time in days. It briefly occurred to him in the back of his mind that she must be some sort of elf, though he chose to remain silent.

Just then, a rustling could be heard from the woods and three figures emerged, two of whom Pippin immediately recognized to Sam and Strider. The third, who immediately rushed to bend down besides Frodo, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She brushed her midnight hair away from her face, revealing pointed, slender ears. She spoke under her breath to Amera in that distant language, while Aragorn placed a few leaves in his mouth and began to chew, kneeling down beside them both. After a few moments, he carefully took the mixture from his mouth and placed it firmly against the wound as Frodo cried out, his back arching his pain.

"Who's that?" Sam asked in confusion and anger. Pippin opened his mouth to reply but Amera glanced over her shoulder and rose, brushing her robes with one hand as she moved the other to move her dark hair away from her face. "One who cares for the well-being of your friend." She offered a faint smile, but Sam loudly retorted. "I don't understand why you elves keep poppin' out of the woods when we need to be gettin' Mr. Frodo help!"

Strider quickly looked up in reply, his voice firm but kind. "Arwen and Amera are here to help, Sam, and have risked their lives in doing so." Sam grew crimson and looked down the ground, muttering something like an apology. Amera inclined her head slightly at his reaction, turning back to Strider and hurriedly speaking, waving an arm towards the dark forest as she moved to retrieve her strange blade, sheathing it with distinct care. Pippin watched her closely as she spoke, the flames of the torchlight dancing against her pale face.

She was beautiful like the elf, but in a decidedly different way. He struggled to determine the difference but decided that her features were somehow more _feral_, though certainly breathtaking. While the elf was stunning enough to steal the breath of any who gazed on her, Amera's beauty was lingering, more dangerous and less comforting somehow. Her cheekbones were prominent against the waves of hair that fell against her shoulders and down the curve of her back, her eyes glittering beneath dark brows as she passionately spoke.

The three appeared to be arguing, Strider shaking his head towards Amera as the elf watched silently, gently stroking Frodo's forehead and planting a soft kiss against it. Finally, Amera bit her lip in frustration but nodded, retying the laces of her gloves roughly and quickly. She whistled into the darkness and two horses trotted forwards, one a shining white and the other a dark chestnut. As Strider and the elf, whose name Pippin had already forgotten, carefully lifted Frodo from the ground and began to move him towards the white steed, Sam loudly protested, "Where are you taking him?"

Amera moved towards the other horse, carefully adjusting the elegant saddle as she glanced over her shoulder towards him. "To Rivendell, where he will be safe." Merry, who had long been silent, suddenly spoke out. "The Riders are out there! It isn't safe for you to take him!" At this, Strider turned towards the elf with concern in his eyes, softly speaking to her while Amera lifted herself into her saddle and pulled her hair back yet again from her face before lifting her dark hood over her head. Pippin watched helplessly as the elf mounted in turn behind Frodo, carefully cradling him to her as he sat limply, his head rolling pitifully to the side as he moaned.

Strider and the elf exchanged one last, long look before she turned and galloped into the dark forest with Sam angrily proclaiming the dangers. Amera turned to follow, but paused and lowered her hood, glancing over her shoulder towards the hobbits. "I will not let anything harm Frodo. I swear it to you."

"You can't help that! You're leadin' him straight into danger, can't you see that?" Sam cried out, tears springing up in his eyes as Strider laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Amera was silent for a moment, the firelight dancing over her, but finally spoke in a voice filled with quiet determination. "I will die before I let any touch him." Without waiting for a reply, she threw the hood over her dark hair and galloped away as Pippin watched her disappear into the dark of the forest.


	2. Chapter One

_The soft mist of the early morning cloaked the pool and danced against the woman's skin, both chilling and refreshing her as her dark hair streamed over her shoulders and sank into the clear water she knelt in. The midnight folds of her dress shimmered and curled as it danced beneath the water to occasionally reveal the pale of a slender ankle. She was motionless as she knelt, her legs carefully bent behind her as her hands were laid neatly upon her lap and the sleeves of her dress swirled in time with the gentle lapping of the water, stirred by the breeze. _

_ The trees that had once been orderly planted around the pool had yearned for freedom and slowly crept their roots through the marbled pathways and reached evermore towards the sky, their leaves gently descending to rest around the woman, as if nature had fashioned her a cloak to trail behind her. The wind softly blew black waves from her shoulders as she knelt silently, the hint of a smile resting upon her lips as if she rested in a pleasant dream. Her head was lowered slightly in respect for something unseen as she _

_ Slowly, her chest rose as she took a long, deep breath and the utter silence of the pool was disrupted. Her hands rose, crystalline water trickling once more into the pool as her fingertips brushed against her pale cheek. There was a slight gasp, as if the woman had suddenly recalled the importance of breathing, and her eyes slowly opened. _

_ Her head tilted upwards as she trembled and watched as the leaves of the canopy above her danced through the air and came to rest by her side, floating delicately as each touched the water. Her breathing continued to be labored as her slender frame shook, the sound of her soft laughter ringing through the abandoned garden. The woman remained in this manner for a few minutes, relishing in the blanket of mist that surrounded her and the refreshing chill of the breeze and the cool touch of the water that lapped around her. _

_ She rose slowly and carefully, her arms extended should her shaky limbs fail her and upon accomplishing this small feat, she moved forward through the pool. Her dress splayed around her and brushed aside fallen leaves while she walked silently, her eyes taking in all around her as a small, radiant smile appeared across her lips. Finally, she arrived at the front of the pool and stopped at the base of a few steps which lead to a small marble archway, shrouded in the mist that rose of the lake surrounding her city. _

_ The woman was utterly still as she stared out at what lay before her. The wind stirred her hair once more and she ignored it as it swirled freely around her head and shoulders. A moment passed and a tear slowly coursed down her cheek and she breathed deeply to resist the appearance of others, and then sighed as more joined their fellow in tickling her pale features. _

_ "_It is time."

_ Her voice was soft and light as she whispered, gently lowering her hands to raise her dress above her ankles as she stepped out of the pool. Her bare feet were cool against the marbled tiles. She looked over her shoulder at her beloved home and committed every detail of its lonely, serene beauty to memory before turning back once more to face the archway. The woman moved forward into the mist, one last word echoing delicately against the forgotten walls of a forgotten city. _

Aeliniel.

Her eyes opened and she stared at the thick canopy of leaves above her head, the outline of the swirling, massive branches defined by the moonlight that managed to creep through the forest. She smiled faintly, raising a hand almost curiously towards the light as it streamed down on her. The stars glowed above her and she curled up where she lay in the soft grass, the dropping branches of the willow surrounding her resting place like curtains. The forest was silent as she rested, a small, slender figure against the enormity of the trees that surrounded her.

Gandalf slowly made his way through the tangled forest, guiding himself by the moonlight as he did his best to avoid tripping over the knobbed roots that twisted their way beneath his feet. As they had fled Isengard, Gwaihir had told him of the whisperings of the sleeping trees and the warnings of his sparrows. Something had woken within the forest. Something old.

The lord of the eagles had gently landed in a small clearing and silently pointed a magnificent wing towards a glade in the distance before returning to grooming himself. If he had known what lay ahead in the glade he had certainly not revealed it as Gandalf had questioned him, simply tilting the curve of his beak towards the glade ahead.

Gandalf was equally curious as he was cautious while he proceeded, thinking that clearly, whatever it was, it was not disturbing the forest. Treebeard would certainly not allow some creation of Saruman's to simply stroll through his domain freely. So just what was it then that had supposedly woken in the forest? He processed through the hundreds of legends, myths and rumors related to Fangorn that were stored in his memory and yes, one certainly did come to mind, though he brushed it aside nearly as quickly as it he had thought of it..

And so it was that he came to stand in the center of the glade and stared ahead at an enormous willow tree, its branches curving down to brush the ground like curtains. Slowly, almost tenderly, he raised his hand to move aside the slender arms of the tree aside and discover what lay behind them.

At first he saw nothing and pursed his brows together in confusion as he continued forward, but then, his eyes fell upon the figure that lay beneath the shadow of the tree. Illuminated by the moonlight, her dark hair streamed over her pale shoulders and over the sleeves of a midnight dress, her eyes closed in slumber.

It was impossible.

He stood motionless as he watched the figure slowly tilt their head to the side as if dreaming, her prominent cheekbones glowing in the light as her eyelids began to flutter. Slowly but surely the woman shifted and opened her eyes, sitting up slowly with a loud wince as she gingerly examined her hands, brushing her fingertips together curiously. Convinced his eyes must be deceiving him, after all, the last time he had been more exhausted had been after that mess with the Five Armies, he softly spoke, "Is it you?"

The woman froze as she saw him for the first time, her eyes widening as she struggled to rise to her feet and fell. Gandalf rushed forward and moved to help her but she recoiled violently. Her voice was weak as she spoke, watching him cautiously, "Where am I?"

Gandalf was silent for a long moment. Finally, he offered a gentle, kind smile. "Do you not remember?"

The woman shook her head and winced, pressing a hand to her back as her voice waivered. "I…I remember _nothing._" She trembled visibly as she spoke, recognizing for the first time how entirely confused she was.

Gandalf nodded at this and the woman detected pity in his eyes as he knelt beside her, "You once knew me as Mithrandir and we were friends, though we saw little of each other."

The woman was silent as she nodded, closing her eyes and uttering a small gasp of pain as her hands rose to clutch her head. "What happened to me? What," Her voice cracked as she looked up to him with glistening eyes, "What is my name, Mithrandir?"

"You had many names, though I believe you were partial to Amera." Her eyes widened farther in recognition at this and he continued, "Come with me, Amera. I promise you I will help you."

"I…I don't think I can walk. Something is…is wrong with me." She raised a trembling hand to rest against her cheek before moving it to her shoulder blade and upon contact, she cried out softly and recoiled.

Seeing her terror, Gandalf carefully rested a hand upon her shoulder and when she did not respond, he spoke again. "I know you are confused, Amera. You have been resting for a very, very long time." He laughed reassuringly. "But what you need is further rest. If you close your eyes and let me carry you, I will see to it that you are safe and we can speak again once you awake."

She was silent for a long moment, staring up at him with the piercing brown eyes that he had immediately recognized. All these years and she had not changed. Not at all.

He watched her slowly nod and pause as she cautiously spoke, her voice almost a whisper. "I remember you."

Gandalf smiled gently, kissing her the top of her head comfortingly. "Close your eyes, Amera. I promise I will let nothing harm you while you dream."

She did as he said and he knelt once more to lift her from the ground, careful to brush against her back as little as possible. It was certainly interesting, he thought as he began to carry the Aeliniel from the glade, that of all things, her scars should hurt. Then again, he chuckled to himself, one will certainly be sore after sleeping for nearly a thousand years.

As he approached Gwaihir, who regarded the woman with a simple tilt of his proud beak, Amera murmured suddenly and softly enough that he strained to her words. "Thank you, Gandalf."

"And you are welcome, Amera Dagorwen."

_"My lord, you must not do this."_

_ "Long have I respected your council, Aeliniel, but to refuse such an offer is cowardice. I would not shame my people."_

_ "Are you blind to what folly this is? He will take no mercy, my king, and do you think truly that he will fight fairly?"_

_ "That is a risk I must take."_

_ "Put your pride aside! Your people would rather have a coward for a king than none at all!"_

_ "To speak as such to your lord is treason, Aeliniel! Upon my return, we will speak of this."_

_ "Earnur, if you do this, you will not return." _

_ "As is always a risk in such matters. Until next we meet, guard the city well as you ever have."_

"_Earnur, you must not do this! __**Please**__!"_

"_Farwell, Aeliniel."_

The first thing she heard was the soft chirping of a distant bird, its gentle song soothing. Then, the melodious twinkling of distant chimes carried their way to her as she slowly grew more conscious of her breathing and, finally, the smooth silk of the sheets that enveloped her. A gentle breeze brushed against her bare shoulders, chilling her, and she moved to curl further beneath the sheets.

Then, without warning, the deep aches resting within her bones and muscles made their presence know and Amera groaned loudly, biting her lip as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Her back felt as though a whip had slashed it open, fire gliding across her shoulder blades in distinct lines and patterns. Unable to rest any longer, she rose with a soft whimper and stared down at herself. A simple, white shift covered all but her feet and shoulders and she was pleased to see that she was clean, though her hair hung in tangles as she tentatively brushed a few fingers through it.

She attempted to stretch her aching body and winced at the response, but carefully made her way across the room as she eyed a pitcher and small plate of fruit. Amera began to search for a glass but quickly gave up and tilted her head back, placing the pitcher to her lips and drinking deeply. The water was icy enough to take her breath away as it soothed her raw throat and she began to choke, spluttering and coughing as she set the pitcher down. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and viciously tore into an apple, closing her eyes in rapture as her stomach was slowly appeased.

Picking up a pear, she opened her mouth to continue her ravenous meal but suddenly froze as she began to take notice of her surroundings. She set down the pear as she perked a brow, cautiously looking around the room for any clues as to how she came to be wherever exactly she was. A set of crimson robes were delicately laid out over a small bench placed next to the ruffled sheets of her bed, stirred gently by a soft breeze of the morning. Pale light poured through the open balcony and roof above her, the very structure of the room intertwined with the thick, leafy branches of tall trees. It was breathtakingly beautiful and she smiled faintly as she realized she was in no danger.

"Ah, I see you've woken."

Amera turned and offered a faint smile towards Gandalf, who leaned comfortably against the doorframe as he watched her. She nodded softly, "Mithrandir."

He laughed as he entered the room, tilting his chin towards the ravaged apple core that lay on the table. "I'm glad to see you've worked up an appetite. I figured you might be hungry after sleeping for four days."

Her jaw dropped. "_Four _days?"

Gandalf gathered his robes and made himself comfortable across from her, glancing over the pear for a quick moment before shrugging and taking a bite himself. "I'm quite surprised you didn't require more sleep, to be honest." He paused and examined her as he waited for her reaction and upon receiving a blank stare, he softly questioned. "You still don't remember, do you?"

She shook her head and laughed nervously as she slipped the robes around her shift. "No. I remember you, though only as if from a dream. When I close my eyes and try to recall even the simplest of things; my age, my home," Her smile was bittersweet, "My own name, I…I just cannot remember _anything._ I still feel as though I'm in a dream and at any moment, I'll waken." Her voice faltered. "And I'll be home."

She watched as he silently studied her, something like pity appearing in her eyes as he finally sighed, "Amera, you've been gone for nearly a thousand years."

Amera simply stared.


	3. Chapter Two

Amera's head whirled and she found herself swaying as she struggled to balance, staggering backwards to sit on the bed. Her back ached and she drew a deep breath, brushing her hair back from her face with trembling hands. She stared at Gandalf and struggled to find her voice, then croaked, "_What_?"

Gandalf gave a smile filled with pity as he watched her struggled to come to terms with what she knew, somewhere deep inside, was the truth. "Amera, you've been gone for almost a thousand years. It was rumored you had disappeared in Fangorn, but Saruman denied you had ever come near Isengard. No one has known what happened to you since the days of Earnur." He watched as her eyes glittered in recognition at the mention of Saruman and Isengard, but she remained silent. He sighed, and then continued. "Do you truly remember nothing?"

Amera stared, her eyes wide as her entire body trembled. He sighed yet again, "I will assume that to be a 'no', then." He stood up and motioned towards the door. "Come, there is something you must see."

The woman staggered behind him as if walking in a dream, her piercing brown eyes reflecting the morning light as she followed. Gandalf led her through the abandoned corridors of Imladris, finally coming to a stop as he opened a gilded iron door. Immediately, the smell of things ancient overtook her senses and she cautiously stepped forward into the room, Gandalf slowly shutting the door behind her. She blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, so different from the seemingly eternal shine of Imladris. Amera glanced over her shoulder as she awaited an explanation, raising a hand to her mouth as she coughed from the stale air of the room but Gandalf was silent, simply inclining his head as he watched her.

She cautiously continued forward and decided it had once been a library, though judging by the thick dust that covered the tables and the cobwebs covering the corners of the room, it had been long since anyone had used it. Scrolls and books filled dark bookcases from floor to ceiling, illuminated solely by a few patches of hazy sunlight streaming through dirtied windows. Her bare feet gently resonated through the silent library and she thought it was once beautiful, this room. Once, scholars had poured over ancient texts by candlelight, the smell of ink and beeswax drifting through the air to be met by the quiet rustling of pages.

Amera paused, tilting her head very slightly as a panel in the back of the room caught her attention. She squinted as she struggled to make out what lay beneath the cobwebs, slowly moving forward and raising a slender hand to gently brush the webs and grime away. Her fingers abruptly stopped and she froze, trembling very slightly as the more and more of the long forgotten mural was slowly revealed.

Standing in a court yard of glistening marble stood a young woman, the wind blowing long, midnight hair over her shoulders and around her face as she stared out at a beautiful, empty city. Its high, white walls were contrasted with intricate designs of stained glass and deep blue gems laid against the blocks of stone. In the distance, a figure rode on a dark horse, his back turned to the city. With trembling fingers, Amera placed her hand against the portrait and brushed away the dust from the woman's face to reveal the deep sorrow in her beautiful, pale face.

Gandalf watched as she slowly fell to her knees and moved beside her, resting a firm, comforting hand against her shoulder. A few, shining tears slid down her face and she made no effort to brush them away as she stared and he knew that she understood. Perhaps not all of it, not just yet, but Amera knew. He watched as she lowered her head and let her dark hair drape over her shoulders, which slowly began to shake as she quietly wept; the pain and hope of memories long forgotten coursing through her and robbing her of breath in its intensity. Gandalf wished he could somehow console her, help ease the burden suddenly placed upon her, but remained silent as he watched her.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "What year is it, Mithrandir?"

"3018."

Her saw the momentary panic in her eyes as she struggled to accept it, but she slowly replied as she looked up to him. "I remember little of all that I was," She paused, finding her words. "All that I _am_, but I remember, Mithrandir." Her dark eyes filled once more, flickering in the hazy light. "But why now? Why, after all this time, do I return?" Her voice wavered slightly and she closed her eyes, the pain fiercely evident as she whispered. "I failed, Mithrandir and even now I am burdened with the knowledge of it. All these years later and at the very thought of-," Her voice cracked as she could not continue, biting her lip as she wept. "The line was broken and I did not save it."

"The line is renewed, Aeliniel. One has risen who will reclaim the throne long lost and restore the glory of the West."

Her eyes opened immediately and Gandalf softly continued, "But things have greatly changed, Amera Dagorwen, since your leaving. The shadow of the North has grown, acting under a former master, and seeks as ever to shroud the world in darkness. Armies are even now being tempered in the dark places of the earth, preparing for a confrontation unlike any since the days of Elendil. "

Upon seeing the confusion and fear in her eyes, he offered a gentle smile. "This is a time of legends, Amera. Things once thought lost have now been found, some for good and some for ill, and in turn the fate of us all may rest upon them." He lowered his voice and cradled her cheek in his hand, his bruised, dirtied fingers cleansed by the pure tears that slowly moved down her cheeks as she continued to grow in her understanding. "You once fought and bled alongside those who sought to preserve the hope they cherished so their sons and daughters would know freedom." He paused to smile faintly. "And that they might know light."

Gandalf looked into her eyes and quietly asked, "Would you fight once more, Aeliniel?"

Her dark eyes began to burn with the fierce determination he remembered so well as she slowly rose after a long moment and brushed what tears remained roughly away. And there, he saw, was the noble tilt of the chin returning as she looked at him, silent as she slowly breathed. She was still heartbroken, overcome with the torrent of memory and raw emotion suddenly cast upon her, and would continue to be, but still Gandalf saw some of the cold, burning intensity of the Aeliniel return as she stood before him and finally spoke.

"Tell me everything."

Amera collapsed into bed and closed her eyes with a quiet groan, simply lying atop the sheets as she thought herself unable to muster the energy necessary to climb beneath them. She had spent the better half of the day with Elrond and Mithrandir and she had done her best to understand all that had happened since she had left, but nonetheless she was still overwhelmed with all she still had to learn. Even more exhausting were the sudden flashes of memories, appearing at the mention of a familiar name or place, as her past began slowly but surely to return to her. Both were certainly kind to her, but she was nonetheless aware of their frustration at having to pause in the middle of an explanation as she would clutch her forehead and gasp, closing her eyes and trembling, and thus effectively ruining any sort of climax either had been attempting in their recollections.

Much to her fury, both Gandalf and Elrond had refused to answer any of her questions about her past despite her increasing pleas, stating that it was for her to slowly rediscover and their interference could very well upset the balance of her returning memories. While she understood their opinions and deep down knew it was for the best, she nonetheless grew increasingly frustrated as she struggled to grasp understanding of now both the past _and_ the present. As she silently lay, staring up through the intricate designs of the ceiling and into the night sky above, she decided that it was rather like looking at one's reflection in water.

If the water was still and clear, it was simple to gaze down and see an incredibly accurate reflection. However, drop a tiny stone into the water and ripples immediately form, branching out and distorting the image, though never completely erasing it. While she still had her memories, they were hazy and ever-changing as more and more recollections rippled through her conscious. All she could do, she sighed as she crawled beneath the silken sheets, was simply wait for the water to settle.

She cringed as her back burned with yet another pang of discomfort and Amera rolled onto her side, growling as she massaged the aching scars. Of all the things she would like to understand, the scars were certainly at the top of the list. They caused her no bother the majority of the time, but would suddenly and inexplicably throb as if slowly healing. The pain was never enough to be truly unbearable, but was certainly inconvenient as she desperately yearned for sleep. Amera tossed back and forth for some time and willed her mind to rest, finally falling into a troubled, fitful sleep.

_Her bare feet flew against the chilled marble, pitter-pattering as she joyously sprinted through the empty city as she did every morning. Should any have gazed upon her they were think her mad and she laughed with this knowledge as the mist of Evendim chilled her shoulders. Her robes and hair streamed behind her as she sprinted through the abandoned courtyard of Annuminas, gazing up at the familiar angles of the towering buildings surrounding her as she continued._

_ It was a grey day and the mist did not disappear as it normally did, instead lazily pooling about the silent alleys and streets as a gentle rain began, further cleansing the nearly spotless city. Finally, she arrived at the uppermost level of the city and rested outside the gardens, grinning as she raised her face towards the sky and let the rain fall upon her. She laughed yet again and shook the wet tendrils of hair obscuring her vision and stared down at her beloved city, as proud and as noble as the men who had built it stone by stone. And yet, as she gazed out, something was different today. She narrowed her eyes as she struggled to determine just what exactly it was, but finally she saw it. There. Towards the North._

_ Towards Angmar._

"Aeliniel, you must wake."

The dream was immediately broken at the unfamiliar voice and Amera instantly sat up, brushing her tangled hair back from her eyes as she looked wildly about the room. And there, standing just inside the door, was the absolute most beautiful woman Amera had ever seen. She stepped forward as Amera's gaze fell upon her and began to speak in soft, flowing Sindarin though Amera was unable to notice any of it, too transfixed by the sheer, luminous beauty of the elf before her. She was tall and slender, but unlike Amera's own boyish frame, her body was graced with gentle curves. Her red, utterly feminine lips contrasted with the black hair that coursed over her shoulders like a waterfall and Amera felt her breath leave her as the moonlight caught in her piercing blue eyes, small pools of water set against a pale, glowing landscape. She knew the tale and, if she did not know otherwise, Amera would have thought Luthien Tinuviel to be in front of her.

The elf tilted her head slightly and repeated after a long, uncomfortable pause in which Amera did nothing but stare. "Would you ride out with me?"

"Well, erm," Amera rose from the bed and awkwardly ran a hand through her hair, "I suppose that would rather depend on just who exactly you might be and where exactly we might be going?" She offered an embarrassed smile, praying the blush creeping across her face would not be terribly noticeable.

As the elf smiled gently at her, Amera could not help but feel as though, somehow, everything would turn out alright in the end. "My name is Arwen and Elrond Halfelven is my father." Amera inclined her head in polite recognition. "My father sent me on behalf of Gandalf to wake you and I fear there is not much time, so if you follow, I will do my best to explain."

Amera nodded, intrigued, and followed Arwen down the hallway as the elf continued. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, leads the Ringbearer and his companion to Imladris."

"Yes, Gandalf explained that to me earlier. The Ringbearer is to be here within a week."

"Something has happened." The elf stopped and turned, her luminous eyes darkening. "My father does not know the entirety of what has happened, but the Ringbearer is in danger and I have been sent out to find him and ensure his safety as he carries the ring."

"What do you mean, 'in danger'? What do Gandalf and your father believe to have happened? And," Amera paused, "I certainly am concerned, but I do not know of what help I can be."

"I will see you are outfitted properly and then you are to ride with me."

Amera stopped, perking a brow. "And your father is accepting of this?"

Arwen grinned, "Gandalf persuaded him." She turned into a small room, which Amera recognized to be an armory, and carefully removed a beautiful, curved blade from the wall, waiting for Amera. "Take it, Aeliniel. It will do until the smiths can forge something better for you."

Amera was silent, slowly extending her hand to gently wrap around the grip and closed her eyes as the memories rushed through her, the weight of a sword familiar to her after all these years. Much to her surprise, and further embarrassment, she felt the hot sting of tears appear in her eyes and she blinked furiously as she stared at the sword glittering in the moonlight, lethal and elegant. Once, she had practiced with a blade similar to this in the empty courtyards of Annuminas to pass the lonely time, conquering invisible enemies as she danced and fought, her motions fluid and spontaneous as she spun.

"Aeliniel?"

Arwen's voice instantly brought Amera's focus once more to the present and she glanced up, smiling faintly. "I prefer Amera, if you will."

The elf smiled after a moment, confused but accepting. "Well, Amera, the road will be long, tiring and dangerous, but would you accompany me?"

Amera grinned for the first time since her wakening, catching her feral, dangerous smile in the glint of the blade as she slowly twirled it around her wrist, discovering the balances and motions. "I need only robes and a horse."


	4. Chapter Three

Amera wove her fingers through Halith's reins and placed her trust utterly in him as they galloped through the darkness. With only the moonlight to light her path it was difficult to keep up with Arwen, but she continued on, racing against time as she knew Frodo suffered and grew ever closer to a fate he did not deserve. She kept a hand ready at her side, her fingers prepared to slide to the hilt of her sword should it be necessary as she listened intently to the darkness.

Had she simply been riding for pleasure, she thought to herself, the trip would have been lovely. The woods, though seemingly unwelcoming at first, grew beautiful and quiet in the darkness. The night air caressed her skin and chilled her enough to keep her awake and focused, her heart racing in her chest as the adrenaline coursed through her. Occasionally a branch would appear from nowhere and she would be forced to duck and twist, lest she be knocked off Halith. When they rode through a glade, Arwen a few hundred yards ahead, she would raise her eyes to the night sky and lose herself momentarily as whispers of memories flowed through her.

She remembered the flickering beauty of a small fire at night and tired, noble men laughed as they polished weathered blades and joked about the wives and family they had left behind. She remembered sprinting through another forest, her bare feet relishing the cold dew of the grass as her hair swirled around her, her dress billowing behind her as she laughed and danced and lost herself. She remembered the flickering moonlight as it rested upon Lake Evendim, the pale light illuminated the high, shining walls of the city she so loved.

Each memory was bittersweet. It was like waking from a dream, she decided as the first rays of the dawn appeared on the horizon, and recalling what had occurred. As time went on, the vividness of each remembrance would fade till she nearly thought she had imagined it. However, as night passed into dawn and dawn became morning, shadows became faces and faces became scenes, filled with sound and color. She took comfort in recalling that which had been lost to her though a deep pain rose in her, as well; the losses of those she had held dear seemed to awake long forgotten grief within her.

Finally, after hours of riding and fresh aches, their mounts cleared the forest and descended into the hills and plains of the Trollshaws and Amera sighed with relief. Now she would be able to see any that approached from far in the distance as opposed to recognizing a threat as it appeared a few feet away in the thick of the woods. She removed a hand carefully from her reins and rubbed Halith's neck, whispering her thanks as he galloped on, stronger and swifter than any horse in her memory.

They rode on and Amera wished desperately to know how Frodo fared but knew stopping to rest would waste the little time that remained, if there was any at all. As her stomach began to growl she did her very best to ignore it, though she knew her strength was waning as the day continued on. The rhythm of Halith, the lazy sun and dull emptiness in her stomach tempted her with sleep and she soon found herself drifting between dreams and reality as she rode, memories continuing to flood her conscious as she slowly gave into exhaustion.

_She gently ran a finger down the length of the glittering sword before her, feeling the curves and angles of runes that spoke of fire and ice glide beneath her fingers. The blade itself was curved slightly in the fashion of the elves, the hilt wrapped in treated leather that had been dyed a dark blue. It was simple compared to the ceremonial swords carried by the guards and councilmen of the city but was beautiful enough to take her breath away. With trembling hands, she slowly wrapped a slender hand around the hilt and felt the precision of the weight in her arm as she lifted it, the pale light of dusk shining against it and seemingly causing it to glow. It was certainly an elven blade, tempered in the forges of Imladris or Mirkwood if her judgment was correct, and was made for a no less than a king._

_ Amera looked up to meet the calm, grey eyes of the king, unable to find her voice. He laughed softly, stroking his silver beard as he watched her in amusement. "Shall I assume you find it to your liking, Aeliniel?" _

_"My lord," She gasped, her stormy eyes wide with surprise as they continued to take in the beauty of the sword, "This…this is too much. I cannot accept such as this." She carefully laid it down, lowering her head in respect and moving her hands to smooth out her robe. _

_ He laughed again, gently taking her chin in his hand as he lifted her gaze to meet hers. "You think far too little of yourself, dear. You have served without complaint and glory in the houses of my fathers and in mine, though no requirement has been made of you. You deserve far more than a simple blade, Aeliniel, but I hope it pleases you."_

_ Amera's eyes watered slightly and she blinked rapidly, doing her best to hide how truly touched she was as her fingers traced the runes yet again in awe. Her voice wavered as she replied; a few tears flowing freely down her pale face. "It is beautiful, my lord. I...I was certainly not expecting such as this."_

_ He smiled at her and for a moment she once again saw the glimmer of youth in his proud, grey eyes, recalling the king before her as the noble young man who had been coroneted on a bright, warm day in what had seemed like such a short time ago. A shot of pain ran through her heart and she hid it, like she always did, as she watched each of the lords of Arthedain grow old before her. Earnil had grown dear to her over the years, treating her as a trusted friend instead of an unnatural ally, as many others had. She would miss him terribly, she thought as she glanced down yet again at the beautiful sword in her hand, his loss would linger on._

_ Earnil watched her for a few more moments, then gently kissed the top of her head and smiled kindly at her when she lifted her gaze, his voice soft but strong, "A shadow is rising, Amera, and you will fight it if not in my lifetime than those of my line. May this blade serve you as well as you have served the sons of Numenor when you face the darkness."_

An unnatural shriek tore through her soul and she instantly woke, her hand flying to unsheathe her sword as she searched for the source of the sound, though she knew full well what she would see. And, there on the horizon, was a line of black figures too distant for Amera to count. She swallowed hard and wrapped her fingers tightly around the hilt, finding comfort in the familiar lines of leather as she whispered to Halith in Sindarin, urging him to find his strength as she gently nudged him with her heels. She galloped even with Arwen and caught her first glimpse of Frodo since the previous day, which now seemed like months ago to her aching body. Her heart sank as he lay there motionless, his head bobbing like a rag doll as Arwen clutched him to her.

"Arwen!" She roared over the thundering hoof beats of their mounts, slipping into Sindarin in her urgency, "Ride on no matter what!"

Arwen opened her mouth as fear appeared in her eyes and Amera knew they were closer than ever, their wicked blades at the ready. After a long moment, Arwen nodded in return and cried out, "Be safe, Aeliniel."

Amera nodded and nudged Halith further parallel to Arwen and Frodo as she watched the Nazgul grow more and more defined with every passing moment. She sheathed her sword and retrieved the bow and arrows from the satchel resting against Halith's flank and dug her feet into the stirrups, steadying herself as she notched an arrow and pulled the drawstring taught. She counted five wraiths and focused on the mount of the one farthest to the left as she examined their line, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she drew a deep breath and imagined she was channeling her will down the arrow, focusing it at the tip and powering it forward to the target. She opened her eyes and watched the arrow fly true to its mark, the midnight horse whinnying in pain as it buried itself in its neck.

She thanked the Valar and notched another arrow, waiting for the horse to fall as she readied herself. However, Amera's eyes grew wide with horror and disgust as the horse rode on, blood and foam streaming forth and staining the ground as it grew ever closer. She let another arrow loose and felt her stomach churn as it pierced the neck yet again, the horse crying out in pain but continuing to gallop as the dark hood of its master stared at her with hidden eyes.

Amera quickly slung the bow over her shoulder and readied her blade yet again as the remaining four Nazgul appearing in the corner of her eye, fighting back the dread that coursed through her as one released a sickeningly high shriek. They were closing in rapidly. She looked up towards Arwen, who had galloped ahead, and cried out. "_Ride on, Arwen._" She looked to either side and felt a shiver travel up her spine as the Nazgul grew closer and closer, desperately searching her mind for a way to help Arwen and Frodo.

She knew it would be impossible to slow all nine of the wraiths. She took a deep breath and sighed, knowing full well the stupidity of her plan as she decided upon it and swiftly yanked the reins, turning Halith sharply to the right and charging the five Nazgul and catching them in surprise. Their horses whinnied and recoiled in fear and she took advantage of this, breaking their ranks and leaning to slice her sword against the thigh of one, hoping that if they could not be killed, they could at least be somewhat slowed in their chase.

The Nazgul screamed and drew their swords, Amera watching as three turned their horses to follow her and leave the others to hunt down Arwen. She bit her lip as she and Halith entered the forest, ducking branches and nearly galloping into trees as they flew, Amera glancing over her shoulder as the three followed close behind. While she desperately wished more had followed, she knew that the fewer wraiths that chased Frodo, the more his chances would increase.

Halith suddenly whinnied and Amera gasped as one of the Nazgul suddenly caught up with her, its sword seemingly appearing from nowhere as it swung towards her. Without thinking, she bent backwards and watched breathlessly as it sliced the air where her neck had been only a moment ago and met the next strike with a cry, her own blade at the ready. Each strike she blocked drove pain through her arm as the wraith attacked with seemingly impossible strength, though the adrenaline coursing through her hid it from her consciousness. The two other Nazgul disappeared into the forest and she prayed Arwen would be too far ahead for them to catch up, though her heart sank as the wraith beside her screamed yet again in fury, its blows grow faster and faster as she blocked each.

She cried out as Halith suddenly stumbled and tripped over the unpredictable floor of the forest, gasping for air as her ribs were crushed against the ground as she fell. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision and she sobbed in pain, but quickly willed herself to rise. An enormous cloud of darkness swept towards her and she instantly reacted, rolling to the side as she struck outwards with her blade. Another scream of fury rang through the forest and she gasped for air as her ribs exploded in fury, the air seemingly stolen from her. Amera turned and saw the Nazgul's horse writhing in pain against the ground, blood spurting from a clean cut to its flank.

And there, only a few yards away, was the wraith itself, its terrible blade stained with the blood of its mount. It spoke suddenly, its voice terrifying deep as he spoke from across the glade. "_You mistake bravery for foolishness." _ It took a step forward and Amera raised her blade at the ready, crying out at the pain that pierced her ribs at the movement. She desperately searched for Halith but found no trace of him. She returned her attention to the Nazgul and felt its gaze move over her slowly; she tasted bile in the back of her mouth as her nausea grew.

"_You cannot save him." _

Amera bit her lip to focus her pain away from her ribs as she drew breath to reply, ignoring the blood that slowly dripped down her pale chin in return. "You hold no claim to him." Her voice rang out high and clear. "Prepare for the wrath of your master when you report of your failure to him."

The wraith was silent for a moment then screamed more loudly and terrible than ever before, raising its sword and charging in fury. Amera's mind exploded with pain as she nearly passed out, but summoned the last reserves of her will and cried out as her sword met that of the Nazgul, their strength evenly matched as their swords struggled against each other. Her arms ached as she struggled to defend herself, knowing full well she would soon be unable to hold her position. She glanced up and stared into the dark hood of the wraith in defiance as she prepared herself to die.

However, a sudden memory coursed through her and she gasped as she knew the blade struggling to reach her throat belonged to that of the Witch-King, the dread lord of Angmar and the northern wastes, and with that came the recognition that _she had faced him before. _The wraith shrieked as it recognized her blade for the first time, "_You." _

Amera staggered back, her slender chest heaving as memories flooded her consciousness, her eyes wide as the Lord of the Nazgul screamed. "_Aeliniel." _

Suddenly, a horse whinnied and Amera saw Halith galloping towards her from the corners of her vision. She swung herself into the saddle as Halith lowered his head and cried out as her ribs were piercing with more pain that she would thought bearable, the darkness on the edge of her vision returning as she sobbed for air. The Witch King stared at her and did not move, his voice filling the glade with shadows and inescapable dread with each word as she struggled to right herself in the saddle. "_You will suffer at the end, Aeliniel. I will see to it."_

Amera was silent for a long moment as they watched each other, the wind blowing the waves of her hair free about her face, momentarily forgetting about the pain that wracked her body as she wiped the blood from her chin, her voice strong as she sheathed her blade and wrapped her fingers tightly in Halith's reins. "I vow to defend the Ringbearer with my life. While I still draw breath, you and your master shall never hold dominion over the Free Peoples of Middle Earth."

She then dug her heels into Halith's side and he swiftly began to gallop through the woods. Amera gasped from shock as each bump sent waves of agony coursing through her. The darkness on the edges of her vision grew as the voice of the Witch-King echoed through the woods behind her, chilling her to the core as she finally slipped from consciousness and knew nothing more.

"_The Men you so foolishly care for are weak, Aeliniel. The line is broken and your struggle will end in vain."_


	5. Chapter Four

_The thick, heavy scent of blood deadened her senses and she could taste bile in the back of her mouth as she continued to fight. Around her the shrieks of wounded orcs pierced the air while the dying sobs of men plucked at her heart, tears streaming from her dark eyes as she cried out and fought with whatever strength she had remaining. Her beautiful blade danced through the air as she thrust and parried with the grace of the elves fighting alongside Earnur, stained with the life blood of Angmar. Her armor was utterly soaked with blood, the leather heavy with the filth of the orcs that continued to rush towards the men of Gondor, their crudely forged weapons clashing and striking against the elegant, noble blades of Earnur's forces. Beside her were the elves of Lindon, led by none other than Glorfindel, his shining, pale hair strikingly visible from the corner of her eye. Earnur himself was farther behind, commanding his troops in coordination with the Dunedain who had come to represent their lost king in battle. Amera had not personally seen any, but she had heard rumor that even the fabled halflings had sent archers in support, aiming their bows from one of the surrounding hillsides into the fray below._

_ The next wave of the orcs rushed forward and Amera roared, her mind utterly blank save for the motions of her blade as she parried and thrust into the sea of Angmar. Her senses had grown numb as well, her body devoting any and all energy into that which was necessary to save her life. Orc after orc screamed with mouths full of bloodied, crook teeth, and yellow eyes twisted with dark veins stared back into her own as they challenged her, hacking and slashing with crude weapons. It had been horrifying at first, this thing called battle, but Amera had quickly realized that she must either grow accustomed to it quickly or pay for her fear with her life. Yes, Amera had quickly come to understand as she had felt the first splatters of dark blood stain her cheek; war was truly and utterly terrible. However, as the pile of bodies around her had begun to steadily grow and threatened to trip her with a misstep, she realized that she was __**good **__at it. All the hours of practice in the abandoned courtyards of her beloved city had paid off. The sore muscles unfamiliar with the strain of a weapon had grown strong as she had taught herself in the art of swordsmanship._

_ Before the battle, Glorfindel had rested an immortal hand against her leather-clad shoulder as they had silently looked out upon the battlefield and saw the dark mass sent forth from Angmar to forever destroy Gondor; Black Numenorians, orcs, trolls and wild men had come to the call of their shadowed master. Somewhere in the black crowd, which began to chant twisted, perverted hymns and battle calls as one, was the Witch-king himself, the faceless evil that had led his armies south into the land of the kings of Arnor. Amera had felt the fury rise in her as she imagined the filth and vile of Angmar staining the hills and forests of Arthedain and she knew she would gladly die to save her beloved Lake and city from ever knowing the hand of the Witch-King._

_ Suddenly, a great cry of fear rose up among the men of Gondor and Amera instantly turned, narrowly deflection a sharp blow aimed at her ribs as she struggled to see above the fray and locate the source of the despair. "Glorfindel!" She screamed as she continued to fight, praying for momentary relief as her arms throbbed with pain and exhaustion, "What is happening?"_

_ Glorfindel fought his way through the crowd to rest beside her, the battle slowing as Angmar prepared to send forth the next wave. His silver hair shone as it was moved by the wind beneath his helmet and he was tall enough to look above the fray, Amera gasping for breath and rubbing her muscles as she prepared herself for the next enemy. "Glorfindel, what is it?"_

_ His eyes narrowed, growing uncharacteristically dark as he simply stared for a long moment, then finally growled with disgust. "The Lord of Angmar rides forth."_

_ Amera paled and felt her heart beat wildly in her chest as another great cry rang through the army, then suddenly turned on her heel and began to move through the soldiers. "Aeliniel, what are you doing?" She heard Glorfindel call out behind her in confusion, but she silently trudged forward, wrapping her fingers tightly around the familiar leather of her sword as she steeled herself. The battlefield had grown silent and the men around her were unmoving as they stared in revulsion and terror. For there, she saw as she made her way to the front of the flank, was the Witch-King. _

_ Clothed in a black, tattered and ever-flowing cloak was the Lord of Angmar, his empty cowl adorned with a wicked, helmet that twisted into a spiked crown. His gauntleted hands held an enormous sword of length, which Amera noted with a deepening fear, that nearly matched her height, and a terrible flail as deadly as his crown, its edges sharpened and utterly lethal. The Witch-King stood silently, towering over the terrified troops as he strode forwards towards a wounded elf, who cried out in fear and pain as the wicked blade was lowered to his throat._

_ Without thinking and guided by sheer adrenaline, Amera rushed forward, roughly pushing aside those who stood in her way. The elf, clutching a bloodied side, wept as he did his best to crawl backwards and away from the approaching horror and she saw, to her profound fury, that those watching simply stood, blankly gazing upon the scene as it played. Finally, she broke the final line of soldiers and called out, her voice ringing out over the silent battlefield. "Return to the shadows of Angmar! You have no claim to a child of Illuvatar!"_

_ The Witch-King twisted its neck immediately and at a nausea-inducting angle, searching for the one who dared to defy him. And there, standing completely alone and soaked with the filth of battle, stood Amera, who was suddenly struck with the realization that she more than likely made a terrible mistake. It tilted its head slightly and began to laugh in a voice that both whispered and roared at once, sending a shiver down her spine as she willed herself to continue to make her stand. "Thou are the finest that Gondor hath to challenge me, girl? Return to thine home and rethink thy actions."_

_ Amera felt fury surge in her and she raised her sword to reveal the delicate runes that swirled down the blade, that whispered of the child of fire and ice, of water. She tilted her chin towards him in defiance, her voice high and clear as she called out in reply. "I am Aeliniel and I have been sent forth by the will of the earth itself to ensure that you never hold domain over Middle Earth."_

_ The Lord of Angmar strode forth, ignoring the wounded elf, as he approached her. His deep voice was mocking, but nonetheless curious as he challenged her. "Yes, the protector of the Annuminas, long left to ruin and the decay of ages." He paused and Amera saw his grip tighten on his sword. "I will stain the lake of thy birth with thy own blood!" He roared and swung his flail faster than she thought possible and she attempted to roll to avoid it, but screamed in agony as she felt the spikes rip through her armor as if it was nothing but paper. She sobbed as her back seemed to burn, four trails of unimaginable pain searing her pale skin as she struggled to maintain consciousness, struggling to rise._

_ The Witch-king rushed forward yet again, shrieking with a cry that seemed to drive any and all hope from the depths of her soul, as he raised his sword to finish her. As she felt the blood pouring from her back, soaking her, she knew was about to die. She closed her eyes as his cloak swirled closer and closer, the lightness of her head causing the world to move unbearably slowly. It could be worse, she thought to herself as she looked down at her blood-flecked hands, once slender and delicate now flecked with blood and smeared with grime. She would die bravely, she decided, silently and stoically as one final act of defiance. _

_ She fell to her knees, each breath difficult, and looked up into the empty cowl of the Witch-king, unafraid to face her end. He looked down at her and laughed, mocking her as he raised his blade for the final strike. _

_ And then, something she did not expect happened. A voice whispered into her ear, as clear as the day; a soft voice that both comforted and encouraged her. "You are not yet finished, Aeliniel." She groaned in confusion as time itself seemed to stop and nothing mattered except the sweet, sad voice that whispered. "Do not give up, Aeliniel. Do not give him this victory." And as the voice disappeared, she felt a surge of hope rush through her, fighting against the despair that darkened her heart and deadened her limbs. Her back was still ravaged, yes, but the pain was suddenly bearable and as she looked up at the blade descending to end her, she knew what she must do._

_ With a cry, Amera raised her sword and blocked the strike, her arms vibrating with the intensity of his blow as the Witch-King recoiled in surprise, shrieking in fury. She took a deep breath and slowly stood, her chest heaving as she struggled for air as her dark hair fell about her face. She made no motion to brush it aside. Her voice was low and thick, each word a promise as she spoke. "You will not know victory this day."_

Amera groaned as she felt the gentle warmth of sunlight against her face, lazily opening an eye as she scanned to determine where exactly she was happened to be waking. And, with a sigh of great relief, she found that herself back beneath the sheets of her bed in Rivendell, where she had been just as confused a few short days ago. She tenderly sat up and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and winced as pain suddenly shot through her ribs, quick but certainly noticeable. Muttering a few choice words beneath her breath, she did her best to arrange her scrambled memory and determine just what exactly had happened.

There had been two riders, yes! Two elves had murmured reassurance as one gently swung her down from Halith, the other carefully moving to share his saddle with her. Their faces and voices were blurred and Amera briefly recalled the name of one of the pair, Elladan, and then she supposed she had given into her exhaustion. She slowly brushed back the sheets and rose with another groan, her body immensely sore despite her rest. Struggling with even moving to fetch herself a bit of food and water across the room, Amera continued to sort of the events that had led her once more to Rivendell.

She froze as a chill slowly traveled down her spine, recalling her meeting with the Witch-King and the images of Fornost poured through her. But, she rubbed her forehead with her wrist as she moved to pour a glass of water, there had been something else. There had been a good bit of riding, yes, and traveling with Arwen silently and swiftly through the wilderness. There had been…

Amera immediately dropped her cup on the floor, ignoring the shattered pieces of clay and pool of water that soaked the ends of her shift as she ran towards the door, ignoring the screaming pain in her torso. Her bare feet quietly clapped against the tiled floors as she ran, looking for anyone who might be able to answer the questions that burned in her mind and stole her breath away with fear and worry. She knew she would very well look mad to any of the elves that came across her, with her wild hair flying about her face, but her sole concern lay with Frodo. She flew through the abandoned halls and high-ceilinged chambers, her heart racing in her chest as her desperation grew.

Finally, her exhaustion caught up with her and she gasped, clutching her ribs as she fell to her knees in a small courtyard and pierced the silence with her deep, rasping breaths. Amera suddenly became aware of a presence and glanced up, pushing her hair back from her face with a trembling hand and raising her gaze towards the tall figure silently watching her. She immediately tried to rise and opened her mouth to speak, but fell down once more with a soft cry as she bit her lip in pain. She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her and gently help her rise, a soft voice questioning, "You should be resting, Aeliniel."

The man, for it was certainly a masculine voice, carefully ushered her towards a bench, where she sat and looked up after a long moment once her beating heart had finally calmed. She found herself looking into the deep grey eyes of Aragorn, finally recognizing him, as he glanced over her with concern. The night in the Trollshaws had been so chaotic she had taken little notice of the Ranger and heir of Elendil, but she quickly stammered. "What of Frodo and Arwen?"

He raised a weathered hand, smiling gently so as to further calm her. "Both are well and resting. Frodo is still experiencing some discomfort, but that is to be expected." She sighed with relief and he continued. "Arwen spoke of your great bravery in your dealings with the wraiths, Aeliniel, I believe I owe you thanks."

She attempted a faint, tired smile. "If anything, it was stupidity, and I thank you for your praise but kindly reject it. I merely did what was required of me."

"Required? I should not think that charging the Nine head on has ever been the duty of any."

"I swore to the halflings that I would do all in my power to protect Frodo and I did as such." She met his pale eyes with her own. "Just as it is my duty to aid you as I may, my lord."

She lowered her head in respect and Aragorn felt her words move through him. Her voice had taken on a different tone as she spoke, filled with power and hope and the whisperings of things long forgotten. Aragorn then carefully glanced over her as she raised her gaze yet again, waiting for his reaction.

At first glance, she was nothing more than a striking young woman, her dark hair shining in loose curls that tumbled over her shoulders. There was a distinct beauty to her, though it was not the immediate attractiveness of those born of Men nor the fair, dream-like beauty of the Eldar. High cheekbones were set in fair skin beneath dark brows; soft, decidedly feminine lips of were ever ready to display emotion. Her eyes flicked with a gentle light and he saw in them the shimmering water of Evendim, lapping against the marble stairs of Annuminas, the lost city of his forefathers. When he looked at her, he suddenly realized with a shudder, he gazed upon something immensely powerful and ancient, cloaked in the guise of familiar youth.

Before he could speak, the woman slowly stood only to kneel with a quiet whimper, softly continuing. "I know naught what aid I will be to you in what every may lie ahead, but I will serve you as best I may as I had your ancestors, my lord Aragorn."

He was silent and Amera waited for his reaction, still in shock as the magnitude of her actions began to set in. Before her, all these years later, was the heir of all that she had fought to preserve. Standing before her, clad in the garb of the Eldar, was the reason she had been granted a second chance.

"Rise, Aeliniel. I would not have you bow."

She carefully did as he instructed, desperately wishing her appearance was more suitable than her current, disheveled state. His grey eyes were troubled and his words were slow and purposeful. "I thank you for your loyalty, Aeliniel, but I fear it is misplaced."

Aragorn watched the maiden's eyes flicker for a moment, almost mischievously, as she replied swiftly in Sindarin. "I place my trust in hope."

He was silent as she hinted at the name given to him by Elrond what seemed so very long ago as she continued, offering a small smile that seemed to cast off the quiet authority she previously displayed as she returned to Westron. "It would seem we both have been tasked with that which we struggle to understand, my lord."

"You need not call me lord, Aeliniel. Aragorn will be more than suitable."

"And in return I would ask the same of you, Aragorn. I may be the Aeliniel, but my name is Amera."

"So be it." He smiled gently as she bowed, yet still continued to watch the woman closely. "You should rest, Amera. The master of Imladris seeks to hold council tomorrow and wishes you to be in attendance. I should think Gandalf will speak of further to you when he is given the chance."

"Then I take your leave." Amera gently inclined her head. "Till next we meet."

And so she turned, just as intrigued by Isildur's heir as he had been of her, her bare feet gently padding against the tiled floor as she went in search of a bath.


	6. Chapter Five

_The thick, heavy scent of blood deadened her senses and she could taste bile in the back of her mouth as she continued to fight. Around her the shrieks of wounded orcs pierced the air while the dying sobs of men plucked at her heart, tears streaming from her dark eyes as she cried out and fought with whatever strength she had remaining. Her beautiful blade danced through the air as she thrust and parried with the grace of the elves fighting alongside Earnur, stained with the life blood of Angmar. Her armor was utterly soaked with blood, the leather heavy with the filth of the orcs that continued to rush towards the men of Gondor, their crudely forged weapons clashing and striking against the elegant, noble blades of Earnur's forces. Beside her were the elves of Lindon, led by none other than Glorfindel, his shining, pale hair strikingly visible from the corner of her eye. Earnur himself was farther behind, commanding his troops in coordination with the Dunedain who had come to represent their lost king in battle. Amera had not personally seen any, but she had heard rumor that even the fabled halflings had sent archers in support, aiming their bows from one of the surrounding hillsides into the fray below._

_ The next wave of the orcs rushed forward and Amera roared, her mind utterly blank save for the motions of her blade as she parried and thrust into the sea of Angmar. Her senses had grown numb as well, her body devoting any and all energy into that which was necessary to save her life. Orc after orc screamed with mouths full of bloodied, crook teeth, and yellow eyes twisted with dark veins stared back into her own as they challenged her, hacking and slashing with crude weapons. It had been horrifying at first, this thing called battle, but Amera had quickly realized that she must either grow accustomed to it quickly or pay for her fear with her life. Yes, Amera had quickly come to understand as she had felt the first splatters of dark blood stain her cheek; war was truly and utterly terrible. However, as the pile of bodies around her had begun to steadily grow and threatened to trip her with a misstep, she realized that she was __**good **__at it. All the hours of practice in the abandoned courtyards of her beloved city had paid off. The sore muscles unfamiliar with the strain of a weapon had grown strong as she had taught herself in the art of swordsmanship._

_ Before the battle, Glorfindel had rested an immortal hand against her leather-clad shoulder as they had silently looked out upon the battlefield and saw the dark mass sent forth from Angmar to forever destroy Gondor; Black Numenorians, orcs, trolls and wild men had come to the call of their shadowed master. Somewhere in the black crowd, which began to chant twisted, perverted hymns and battle calls as one, was the Witch-king himself, the faceless evil that had led his armies south into the land of the kings of Arnor. Amera had felt the fury rise in her as she imagined the filth and vile of Angmar staining the hills and forests of Arthedain and she knew she would gladly die to save her beloved Lake and city from ever knowing the hand of the Witch-King._

_ Suddenly, a great cry of fear rose up among the men of Gondor and Amera instantly turned, narrowly deflection a sharp blow aimed at her ribs as she struggled to see above the fray and locate the source of the despair. "Glorfindel!" She screamed as she continued to fight, praying for momentary relief as her arms throbbed with pain and exhaustion, "What is happening?"_

_ Glorfindel fought his way through the crowd to rest beside her, the battle slowing as Angmar prepared to send forth the next wave. His silver hair shone as it was moved by the wind beneath his helmet and he was tall enough to look above the fray, Amera gasping for breath and rubbing her muscles as she prepared herself for the next enemy. "Glorfindel, what is it?"_

_ His eyes narrowed, growing uncharacteristically dark as he simply stared for a long moment, then finally growled with disgust. "The Lord of Angmar rides forth."_

_ Amera paled and felt her heart beat wildly in her chest as another great cry rang through the army, then suddenly turned on her heel and began to move through the soldiers. "Aeliniel, what are you doing?" She heard Glorfindel call out behind her in confusion, but she silently trudged forward, wrapping her fingers tightly around the familiar leather of her sword as she steeled herself. The battlefield had grown silent and the men around her were unmoving as they stared in revulsion and terror. For there, she saw as she made her way to the front of the flank, was the Witch-King. _

_ Clothed in a black, tattered and ever-flowing cloak was the Lord of Angmar, his empty cowl adorned with a wicked, helmet that twisted into a spiked crown. His gauntleted hands held an enormous sword of length, which Amera noted with a deepening fear, that nearly matched her height, and a terrible flail as deadly as his crown, its edges sharpened and utterly lethal. The Witch-King stood silently, towering over the terrified troops as he strode forwards towards a wounded elf, who cried out in fear and pain as the wicked blade was lowered to his throat._

_ Without thinking and guided by sheer adrenaline, Amera rushed forward, roughly pushing aside those who stood in her way. The elf, clutching a bloodied side, wept as he did his best to crawl backwards and away from the approaching horror and she saw, to her profound fury, that those watching simply stood, blankly gazing upon the scene as it played. Finally, she broke the final line of soldiers and called out, her voice ringing out over the silent battlefield. "Return to the shadows of Angmar! You have no claim to a child of Illuvatar!"_

_ The Witch-King twisted its neck immediately and at a nausea-inducting angle, searching for the one who dared to defy him. And there, standing completely alone and soaked with the filth of battle, stood Amera, who was suddenly struck with the realization that she more than likely made a terrible mistake. It tilted its head slightly and began to laugh in a voice that both whispered and roared at once, sending a shiver down her spine as she willed herself to continue to make her stand. "Thou are the finest that Gondor hath to challenge me, girl? Return to thine home and rethink thy actions."_

_ Amera felt fury surge in her and she raised her sword to reveal the delicate runes that swirled down the blade, that whispered of the child of fire and ice, of water. She tilted her chin towards him in defiance, her voice high and clear as she called out in reply. "I am Aeliniel and I have been sent forth by the will of the earth itself to ensure that you never hold domain over Middle Earth."_

_ The Lord of Angmar strode forth, ignoring the wounded elf, as he approached her. His deep voice was mocking, but nonetheless curious as he challenged her. "Yes, the protector of the Annuminas, long left to ruin and the decay of ages." He paused and Amera saw his grip tighten on his sword. "I will stain the lake of thy birth with thy own blood!" He roared and swung his flail faster than she thought possible and she attempted to roll to avoid it, but screamed in agony as she felt the spikes rip through her armor as if it was nothing but paper. She sobbed as her back seemed to burn, four trails of unimaginable pain searing her pale skin as she struggled to maintain consciousness, struggling to rise._

_ The Witch-king rushed forward yet again, shrieking with a cry that seemed to drive any and all hope from the depths of her soul, as he raised his sword to finish her. As she felt the blood pouring from her back, soaking her, she knew was about to die. She closed her eyes as his cloak swirled closer and closer, the lightness of her head causing the world to move unbearably slowly. It could be worse, she thought to herself as she looked down at her blood-flecked hands, once slender and delicate now flecked with blood and smeared with grime. She would die bravely, she decided, silently and stoically as one final act of defiance. _

_ She fell to her knees, each breath difficult, and looked up into the empty cowl of the Witch-king, unafraid to face her end. He looked down at her and laughed, mocking her as he raised his blade for the final strike. _

_ And then, something she did not expect happened. A voice whispered into her ear, as clear as the day; a soft voice that both comforted and encouraged her. "You are not yet finished, Aeliniel." She groaned in confusion as time itself seemed to stop and nothing mattered except the sweet, sad voice that whispered. "Do not give up, Aeliniel. Do not give him this victory." And as the voice disappeared, she felt a surge of hope rush through her, fighting against the despair that darkened her heart and deadened her limbs. Her back was still ravaged, yes, but the pain was suddenly bearable and as she looked up at the blade descending to end her, she knew what she must do._

_ With a cry, Amera raised her sword and blocked the strike, her arms vibrating with the intensity of his blow as the Witch-King recoiled in surprise, shrieking in fury. She took a deep breath and slowly stood, her chest heaving as she struggled for air as her dark hair fell about her face. She made no motion to brush it aside. Her voice was low and thick, each word a promise as she spoke. "You will not know victory this day."_

Amera groaned as she felt the gentle warmth of sunlight against her face, lazily opening an eye as she scanned to determine where exactly she was happened to be waking. And, with a sigh of great relief, she found that herself back beneath the sheets of her bed in Rivendell, where she had been just as confused a few short days ago. She tenderly sat up and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and winced as pain suddenly shot through her ribs, quick but certainly noticeable. Muttering a few choice words beneath her breath, she did her best to arrange her scrambled memory and determine just what exactly had happened.

There had been two riders, yes! Two elves had murmured reassurance as one gently swung her down from Halith, the other carefully moving to share his saddle with her. Their faces and voices were blurred and Amera briefly recalled the name of one of the pair, Elladan, and then she supposed she had given into her exhaustion. She slowly brushed back the sheets and rose with another groan, her body immensely sore despite her rest. Struggling with even moving to fetch herself a bit of food and water across the room, Amera continued to sort of the events that had led her once more to Rivendell.

She froze as a chill slowly traveled down her spine, recalling her meeting with the Witch-King and the images of Fornost poured through her. But, she rubbed her forehead with her wrist as she moved to pour a glass of water, there had been something else. There had been a good bit of riding, yes, and traveling with Arwen silently and swiftly through the wilderness. There had been…

Amera immediately dropped her cup on the floor, ignoring the shattered pieces of clay and pool of water that soaked the ends of her shift as she ran towards the door, ignoring the screaming pain in her torso. Her bare feet quietly clapped against the tiled floors as she ran, looking for anyone who might be able to answer the questions that burned in her mind and stole her breath away with fear and worry. She knew she would very well look mad to any of the elves that came across her, with her wild hair flying about her face, but her sole concern lay with Frodo. She flew through the abandoned halls and high-ceilinged chambers, her heart racing in her chest as her desperation grew.

Finally, her exhaustion caught up with her and she gasped, clutching her ribs as she fell to her knees in a small courtyard and pierced the silence with her deep, rasping breaths. Amera suddenly became aware of a presence and glanced up, pushing her hair back from her face with a trembling hand and raising her gaze towards the tall figure silently watching her. She immediately tried to rise and opened her mouth to speak, but fell down once more with a soft cry as she bit her lip in pain. She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her and gently help her rise, a soft voice questioning, "You should be resting, Aeliniel."

The man, for it was certainly a masculine voice, carefully ushered her towards a bench, where she sat and looked up after a long moment once her beating heart had finally calmed. She found herself looking into the deep grey eyes of Aragorn, finally recognizing him, as he glanced over her with concern. The night in the Trollshaws had been so chaotic she had taken little notice of the Ranger and heir of Elendil, but she quickly stammered. "What of Frodo and Arwen?"

He raised a weathered hand, smiling gently so as to further calm her. "Both are well and resting. Frodo is still experiencing some discomfort, but that is to be expected." She sighed with relief and he continued. "Arwen spoke of your great bravery in your dealings with the wraiths, Aeliniel, I believe I owe you thanks."

She attempted a faint, tired smile. "If anything, it was stupidity, and I thank you for your praise but kindly reject it. I merely did what was required of me."

"Required? I should not think that charging the Nine head on has ever been the duty of any."

"I swore to the halflings that I would do all in my power to protect Frodo and I did as such." She met his pale eyes with her own. "Just as it is my duty to aid you as I may, my lord."

She lowered her head in respect and Aragorn felt her words move through him. Her voice had taken on a different tone as she spoke, filled with power and hope and the whisperings of things long forgotten. Aragorn then carefully glanced over her as she raised her gaze yet again, waiting for his reaction.

At first glance, she was nothing more than a striking young woman, her dark hair shining in loose curls that tumbled over her shoulders. There was a distinct beauty to her, though it was not the immediate attractiveness of those born of Men nor the fair, dream-like beauty of the Eldar. High cheekbones were set in fair skin beneath dark brows; soft, decidedly feminine lips of were ever ready to display emotion. Her eyes flicked with a gentle light and he saw in them the shimmering water of Evendim, lapping against the marble stairs of Annuminas, the lost city of his forefathers. When he looked at her, he suddenly realized with a shudder, he gazed upon something immensely powerful and ancient, cloaked in the guise of familiar youth.

Before he could speak, the woman slowly stood only to kneel with a quiet whimper, softly continuing. "I know naught what aid I will be to you in what every may lie ahead, but I will serve you as best I may as I had your ancestors, my lord Aragorn."

He was silent and Amera waited for his reaction, still in shock as the magnitude of her actions began to set in. Before her, all these years later, was the heir of all that she had fought to preserve. Standing before her, clad in the garb of the Eldar, was the reason she had been granted a second chance.

"Rise, Aeliniel. I would not have you bow."

She carefully did as he instructed, desperately wishing her appearance was more suitable than her current, disheveled state. His grey eyes were troubled and his words were slow and purposeful. "I thank you for your loyalty, Aeliniel, but I fear it is misplaced."

Aragorn watched the maiden's eyes flicker for a moment, almost mischievously, as she replied swiftly in Sindarin. "I place my trust in hope."

He was silent as she hinted at the name given to him by Elrond what seemed so very long ago as she continued, offering a small smile that seemed to cast off the quiet authority she previously displayed as she returned to Westron. "It would seem we both have been tasked with that which we struggle to understand, my lord."

"You need not call me lord, Aeliniel. Aragorn will be more than suitable."

"And in return I would ask the same of you, Aragorn. I may be the Aeliniel, but my name is Amera."

"So be it." He smiled gently as she bowed, yet still continued to watch the woman closely. "You should rest, Amera. The master of Imladris seeks to hold council tomorrow and wishes you to be in attendance. I should think Gandalf will speak of further to you when he is given the chance."

"Then I take your leave." Amera gently inclined her head. "Till next we meet."

And so she turned, just as intrigued by Isildur's heir as he had been of her, her bare feet gently padding against the tiled floor as she went in search of a bath.


	7. Chapter Six

Amera closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her fingers slowly felt along the lines of leather encompassing the grip of her practice blade, tranquility slowly began to course its way through her slender body as she drew her focus. Eyes still closed, she drew the sword parallel to her body, her heart involuntarily racing as she pictured the black steeds of the Nazgul and the cruel edges of the weapons that cut so close to her, thirsting for blood. A moment passed and she finally whispered, "_Dagorwen,_" and swung the sword elegantly towards an invisible enemy.

She continued for some time, the swirls of her robe gathering around her feet as she seemed to dance, her sword a blur in her hands as she twirled it around her wrist, channeling her mind down the blade as she parried and side-stepped an invisible enemy. Occasionally a flash of some hidden memory would burn into her mind, a face that was vaguely familiar yet distant, as if she was watching them through a gently-rippling pool of water. Amera knew that only a few days earlier these visions would have stopped her in her tracks, all of her energy desperately focusing towards capturing the lost images. She turned, lifting the sword above her head and striking lengthwise to gain power. The blade flashed in her hands as it caught the moonlight, glinting with beautiful, deadly power. Her breathing was steady as she continued to lose herself completely in her practice, biting her lip each time a memory appeared as she worked to keep her focus.

"An intriguing hobby for an elf maiden." A calm voice gently rang through the room. "You fight well."

Amera froze as her concentration was broken and turned, perking a brow as she examined the room for the source of the compliment. In the far corner of the room, a figure calmly leaned against a pillar and pushed himself off of it, stepping into the moonlight. She watched him carefully, replying with the hint of a wicked grin. "I thank you for such praise, _mellon_, but I am afraid this is neither a hobby nor am I one of the first born. I've just," She paused, "I have simply had quite a bit of time to practice."

The man was tall and clad in a leather hauberk, with autumn hair that fell against his strong shoulders. He crossed both arms against his chest, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he glanced over her. His voice was soft and curious, "No woman carries a blade and moves such as you," He shifted his weight to the side, moving as if to inspect her from all angles and continued, "And clearly you are neither dwarf nor one of the fabled halflings, unless my eyes clearly mistake me. So, if you are not of elf kind, what exactly are you, my lady?"

"Must I choose to be something other than simply myself?"

The man grinned at her reply in surprise, inclining his head. "Well spoke." He laughed softly, shifting his glance from her face towards the roof and the patches of moonlight gently drifting through the courtyard. "I must admit, I had not expected to find any awake, much less wielding a blade, at such an hour. But, nonetheless, I suspect any that dwell in Imladris is surely a friend."

Amera gently laid her sword down on top of a small, stone bench and turned to face the man once more as she brushed her hands down her robe to straighten tit. As the moonlight fell against his face, she noted how similar some of his features were to those of Aragorn, not enough to be mistaken for a brother but surely enough to be a son of Numenor. And, she could not help but notice, he was just as, if not more, handsome than Isildur's heir himself.

"If you have been summoned by Lord Elrond on behalf of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, than I should call myself both friend and ally."

The man looked briefly surprised by the quiet strength in her voice, but proclaimed immediately in reply, "Then it should seem we fight for the same cause, my lady." He bowed, starlight and shadows falling over his shoulders. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor and captain of Gondor."

So she had been right to compare his features to Aragorn's, Amera silently thought as she softly inclined her head in reply. She had no interest in curtsying. "My name is Amera and it is an honor, though I should inform you that the title of 'lady' need not be used in accordance with me." She grinned very slightly. "No noble blood runs through my veins."

Boromir grinned in reply. "Ah, well then, _Amera_," He emphasized her name, "May I ask why you roam Rivendell at such an hour?"

"The same could be asked to you, mellon." She turned towards the balcony, the marble cold against the pads of her unclothed feet as she overlooked the serene beauty. "I found myself unable to sleep and thought I may as well put my restlessness to some use." She glanced over her shoulder to him. "And yourself?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his rugged hair, "I suppose I find myself in the same situation, though I've simply been wandering instead of putting myself to practice. I have," He paused for a moment, "A good many things running through my mind that rob me of any rest." She nodded in agreement and turned to face outwards once more, the cool night air gently lifting her hair off of her shoulders. Her voice was quiet as she carefully chose her words, nearly lost among the crickets and melodies of distant chimes. "An ailment I am all too familiar with."

Amera felt his gaze fall upon her once more and she turned towards him, moving a hand to brush her wavy hair away from her face. He abruptly averted his gaze, nodding swiftly as he stated emotionlessly, "A good night's rest to you." She watched him turn and blinked, intrigued by both his sudden farewell and his general manner as she quietly replied, "You as well, friend." He disappeared into the darkness and she sighed, moving across the courtyard to retrieve her blade before returning to her own quarters.

She silently removed her robes and slipped into a loose shift, tying her hair back with a slip of ribbon before crawling beneath a light sheet. Placing her hands beneath her head, she shivered as the night breeze danced across her exposed skin. Amera carefully retraced the recent conversation and wondered what exactly she had done to make him so uncomfortable. Perhaps, she wondered after she was unable to find any sort of reason, it was simply her. Perhaps others could sense that there was something _different_ about her. Perhaps they knew she was unnatural.

Amera sighed and slipped onto her side, closing her eyes as she did her best to block out her thoughts, shifting to focus on tomorrow's council and just what exactly it might entail. She prayed she would not be required to speak or give any sort of opinion and instead be allowed to simply observe from a seat as close to Gandalf or Frodo as she could manage. Well, if that could not be managed, she supposed Aragorn might be an option.

Ever so slowly, Amera drifted off into sleep while she planned out the events of the approaching morning. However, despite her best attempts to ignore it, the dull ache of loneliness remained in her heart.

Amera groaned as the first rays of the morning sun fell against her face, burying her face in a pillow and pulling the sheet up around her body as if it was some sort of armor, though exceptionally comfortable and decorative armor. After a few, luxurious moments of soaking up the warmth of her bed, she slowly rose and stretched, recognizing the renewed strength of the muscles required to wield a blade. She was both pleased and relieved to find a new set of robes had been laid out for her on a chair at the front of her room and she quickly slipped into them, grateful that it was not a dress. Even more to her surprise, a small circlet was carefully placed across from her bed.

Taking a brush to her hair, she carefully parted her waves and pulled them back with two small braids, letting the rest of her hair flow over her shoulders. She delicately placed the circlet upon her forehead and felt the unfamiliar chill of the steel against her skin, moving to view herself in the mirror. The robes were of a dark blue with a high collar that were striking against the pale of her skin and were belted around the waist; three quarter length sleeves billowing around her wrists. The circlet itself was simple, but beautiful, centered with a tiny opal that glittered beautifully as it caught the light. Amera nervously stared at herself and was content with the reflection, though she decided that she would more than likely be mistaken yet again for an elf.

She took a deep breath and calmed herself as best she could and began to briskly walk, breathing the crisp morning air deeply. Carefully practicing what she would should different questions should arise, such as whether or not she could be of any use, her opinion on what should be done with the Ring or, the one she dreaded, just what exactly she was.

As she considered how to best explain that she did not remember much of anything except for the white, shining walls of Annuminás, the deafening cries of war and the sobs of the wounded at Fornost and the empty cowl of the Lord of Angmar, and was rather unsure as to why she had woken at all, a voice suddenly called out behind her.

"Wait! Ame-," There was a pause and a quick gasp for air. "My lady!"

Amera turned and perked a brow, at first seeing no one. However, she blinked and shifted her focus closer to the ground, discovering a hobbit doubled over for breath with brown curls obscuring his face. "Oh, erm, hello there." She paused and carefully looked him over before offering a cautious, "Are you alright, then?"

The hobbit looked up and grinned shyly after a moment and she detected a slight blush rising in his cheeks. His features were handsome in a decidedly hobbit like fashion, his green eyes dancing as he gave a quick nod. She recognized him to be one of the two she had first met when she had found Frodo. "I am, thanks. I, well, I just saw you walking and wanted to," He stumbled a bit and glanced down towards the ground, clearly unsure of how to continue.

Amera grinned at him, brushing her hair from her shoulders as she knelt to level her gaze with his. "You will have to forgive me, but I know not your name." He looked up at her as she continued, "If I remember what Gandalf explained to me, then you are either one Meriador Brandybuck or a Peregrin," She searched her memory for the name, biting her lip in focus for a moment before the hobbit laughed.

"It's Took, my lady. Peregrin Took, though I prefer Pippin, if you will."

"Ah, that's what it was! Well, Pippin, I suppose I rather have a lot of names myself, but Amera is the one I prefer."

He nodded with a quick, mischievous grin. "That makes sense. Anyway, I saw you walking and just wanted to," He shifted his weight, clearly choosing his words carefully, "Apologize for, well, trying to hit you with my sword that night. I doubt I would have hurt you at all, considering I've really only had a sword of my own for a week and I'm more used to holding a pint than a blade, but," He blushed a bit more as he caught himself rambling. He took a deep breath and softly offered, "Thank you for helping Frodo. I don't understand how anyone could be as brave as you were, but," Pippin glanced up and met her eyes. "He's one of my best friends and it's my fault he was hurt in the first place. Thank you."

Amera was silent for a moment, deeply touched by the hobbit's sincerity. She finally smiled and placed her hand over her heart, inclining her head as she spoke. "If anyone should apologize for their behavior, it is certainly myself. I was exceptionally rude to both you and Meriadoc and for that I am sorry. You should not trouble yourself with guilt, though. What's done is done and I think Frodo is truly to blessed to have a friend such as you." Her smile wavered briefly as her voice grew softer. "I must admit I'm rather jealous."

Pippin perked a brow, genuine confusion appearing in his twinkling eyes. "You mean you haven't got any friends?"

Amera paused as she thought over her acquaintances. Gandalf was a friend, but was too much of a mentor and too, well, wizard-like to be anything terribly close. Arwen was kind, as well, but their personalities were simply too different for any true self-disclosure. Doing her best not to sound like a recluse, she replied. "I suppose I did, but…well, they're all gone." She shrugged. "It's alright, though."

Pippin tugged on his scarf as he glanced over her, waiting for her to elaborate. When no explanation came, he burst into a wide grin. "Well, now that the Ring's here and Frodo's better, I don't think I'm going to be here much longer, but," He gave a curt nod, "If you should ever find yourself in the Shire, make your way to the Green Dragon and I'll share the finest ale in the South Farthing with you!"

Amera grinned in return, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she rose and smoothed out the folds of her robes. "I should like that very much. I'll take you up on your offer one day soon, I hope. If you will excuse me, I'm afraid I must be off. However, I'd be honored if you and your companions came and visited me before you left so I may give a proper farewell."

"Of course!" He offered a little, awkward bow and shook a few stray curls from his face. "And once again, thank you." Pippin then turned and quickly walked away as Amera watched with a wide grin. She adjusted her circlet and continued towards the council, her anxiety all but gone as the simple gratitude of the hobbit slowly warmed her heart.


	8. Chapter Seven

Amera bit her lip and cursed under her breath as she realized stopping to speak to Pippin had more than likely delayed her arrival to the Council enough that her late entrance would be noticeable. She stopped and sighed as she paused, deciding that it would be better to arrive rather disheveled than to be late. She then took off into a sprint towards the courtyard and grinned to herself as she caught the glances of a few elves staring in shock at her as she passed them, a blur of navy and black, streaming hair. Much to her surprise and thankfulness, her ribs caused her nothing but a slight pain, like that of an initial bruise. Her feet carried her across the beautiful stone floors of numerous chambers and pathways quickly enough that she fancied they never touched the ground at all,

Hoping that she had made up what time she had lost as she approached the courtyard, Amera sharply turned a corner and found herself sliding to a stop as someone blocked the path before her. She uttered a decidedly unladylike word without thinking as she rapidly adjusted her circlet and robes, offering her sweetest, most apologetic grin as the figure turned around. It was an elf with shining blonde hair that trailed perfectly over his pointed ears and over his shoulders who stared at her with the most intensely blue eyes she had ever seen, bowing his head as he gracefully stepped to the side. She sighed inwardly in despair as she glanced over him, taking notice of how absurdly _perfect_ he looked, praying she could emulate a mere fraction of the confidence he exhuded.

His voice was soft, "I apologize for being in your way, my lady."

Amera perked a brow and laughed, slipping into Sindarin. "Please, I nearly knocked you from your feet. I owe you the apology, friend elf."

He immediately looked up, tilting his head slightly in surprise as Amera not only spoke the tongue of the elves, but spoke it beautifully. He glanced over her, though not unkindly, and replied in bluntly in Sindarin as recognition came into his eyes. "You are the Aeliniel."

She shifted slightly, "I am."

"Your actions at the battle of Fornost were not forgotten," He smiled gently, "My people still speak of your courage."

Unsure of how quite to reply, she offered a small smile. "Thank you, friend."

"Men have long thought you to never return."

"Well, I suppose I have returned. I fear I remember little of," She paused, "The…past, though some of it has returned to me."  
>She shrugged and nervously brushed her hair over her ear.<p>

The elf nodded, his face utterly void of emotion as he replied, "The men of Gondor have greater need for you than ever." He then offered a small bow and turned to walk towards the Council.

Amera blinked. A pang of anxiety twisted in her stomach and she sighed as she gathered her composure and walked towards the courtyard. There was a reason, she decided as she glanced over the diverse group mulling about ahead of her, that she had always preferred the company of men over that of the elves. She sighed and adjusted her circlet and robes needlessly yet again, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the beautiful courtyard, the morning light spilling through the leaves of the trees that seemed to weave themselves through the buildings themselves.

Clearly Elrond had summoned any and all representatives of the Free Peoples across Middle Earth, she thought as she examined the scene before her. A group of dwarves talking lowly amongst themselves and casting dark looks towards a cluster of dark haired elves, whom Amera recognized after a moment as being from Mirkwood. A few men were there and spoke softly amongst themselves, their grey beards starkly contrasting the pale hair of another group of elves beside them. And there, across the courtyard, Amera spotted Aragorn and Gandalf nodding to each other, while a nervous Frodo sat silently by himself. It was certainly a diverse representation, Amera decided, though none made any sort of attempt to break any unwritten rules by interacting with those of a different race; those familiar with each other simply stood and made small talk, ignoring the others around them.

"Lovely." Amera said darkly under her breath as she silently stepped into the courtyard and began to approach Gandalf. However, the Council suddenly united as conversation immediately ceased, all eyes turning to her as she made her presence known. The knot in her stomach tightened as she held her gaze evenly, slipping through the small crowd and hoping the fearsome beating of her heart would not be heard as the silence continued. She offered a faint smile to Aragorn and Gandalf as she murmured, "It should seem I am not wanted."

Gandalf seemed to take notice of the Council for the first time and shook his head, stroking his beard as he sighed and patted her gently on the shoulder. "Take no notice of it, my dear." He waved a hand as he continued. "Lord Elrond has asked you to be in attendance and that is all that matters."

She attempted an unconvincing smile and Aragorn nodded to her, hoping to make her as comfortable as possible. "Everyone is simply tense, my lady. Make no notice of their eyes for they already focus their attentions elsewhere." He gestured slightly and she glanced over her shoulder and saw it was true. The dwarves and elves had returned to their separate conversations, which Amera could make out to involve the benefits of iron ore and the growing of the best vineyards, though some of the men continued to occasionally glance in her direction.

She shrugged and perked a brow, hoping to find an extra seat somewhere close to either of them as she searched the courtyard. Upon finding none, she lowered her voice and asked nervously, "Where am I to sit? I know no one here."

Frodo gently spoke up, offering a comforting smile despite his own anxieties and nodded across the courtyard. "There's one over there, next to the man in the black robes." She followed his gaze and felt her heart sink as she discovered two open seats and the choice of seating beside either an older, pompous looking man or a regally clad gentleman who glared unapologetically towards her.

She looked back to Frodo for a moment, then offered, "Since I did my best to help save your life, can I interest you in changing seats?"

Frodo grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but Gandalf snorted and tilted his staff towards the empty chairs. "Off with you, Amera, and do your best to be sociable." Amera sighed before turning and delicately making her way towards the chair, seating herself beside the older man. He turned and glanced over her as she smiled politely in an attempt to generate a conversation, but was rewarded with a loud huff of disapproval. She then focused her attention on folding her hands in her lap and chastised herself for allowing herself to be affected by the reactions around her. Even if she could not remember the majority of her past life, she still remained the Lake Daughter, called Dagorwen by the men of Arthedain and advisor to the line of Isildur, yet she felt unworthy to attend a Council of the Free Peoples she had defended for so long?

As she considering turned to the man and replying that his forefathers had elected to treat her with a good deal more respect, a voice interrupted her thoughts. "So I see you do not carry a blade with you everywhere, then?"

She raised a brow and turned to her opposite side, blinking as Boromir lowered himself aside her. Smiling faintly, she answered, "I chose to leave it in my quarters, though the dwarves seemed to be heavily armed should you desire any sort of weaponry during the Council." He laughed and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, settling comfortably into the chair as the men around him lowered their heads in respect.

Amera blinked to resist rolling her eyes as she softly continued, "I should hope I did nothing to offend you when last we met. If I did, I assure you it was unintentional."

He shook his head at this, waving a hand. "No, you did nothing of the sort. I just…I just did not wish to seem rude." He turned and glanced her over, his piercing green eyes taking her in before slowly questioning, as if doubting himself, "Have we met before? I am convinced I have seen you before, though my memory hides the occasion."

She paused, unsure of how to state that she happened to be in a large portrait that graced one of the libraries of Rivendell and could very well be in others, for all she knew, but Boromir quickly shook his head and chuckled, "Forgive me, the road here was long and I fear my mind was addled by its length. Nonetheless, I am pleased to see you yet again, though I must admit it is unexpected. What brings you to the Council, if I may ask?"

Amera replied with a slight, mysterious smile. "I was invited."

He opened his mouth to question her response, but paused as Elrond's voice suddenly rang through the courtyard. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old and," Amera saw him briefly glance in her direction, "And those who return to us, you have been summon here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it." He paused momentarily then continued gravely. "You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this face, this one doom."

Frodo slowly rose as the members of the Council watched him curiously and silently placed the Ring before returning to his seat. Murmurs and whispers immediately could be heard as many sat up in disbelief, staring at the ancient power before them.

Boromir shifted beside her as he murmured, "So it is true…" He slowly rose, his eyes never leaving the Ring as he spoke out, his voice clear and strong. "In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark but in the West, a pale light lingered "A voice was crying, 'Your doom is at hand…'" Amera watched as his hand slowly extended towards the Ring ,trancelike. The Council remained silent as they watched him, transfixed by what lay before them.

Just as his fingers were to brush the Ring, Elrond called out, "Boromir!" A harsh wind picked up and Amera stood up in surprise as the sky darkened, a deep shiver coursing through her. The Council immediately began to talk over each other but were silenced as Gandalf rose, crying out in a deep and terrible voice she had not imagined him to be possible of. His words were harsh and guttural and she found herself trembling at their might, though she knew not their true meaning.

Gandalf finally uttered a small gasp and lowered himself into his seat as if greatly wearied, "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard from every corner of the West!" He shook his head. "The Ring is altogether evil."

Amera closed her eyes at the thought briefly, lowering her head as the image of the Witch King burned through her mind, his terrible sword only inches from her throat as it had been only a few days prior. His dark, terrible words coursed through her, reverberating through her mind. _Your struggle will end in vain. _

However, she was snapped out of her thoughts as Boromir quietly began to speak yet again, choosing his words carefully, "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring?" He rose incredulously, pacing slowly as he gestured the rest of the Council. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay!"

Amera blinked at this, her eyes widening as she watched him continued, though paid no attention to him as her mind reeled. Boromir was not only a descendant of Mardil Voronwe, but was the son of the current Steward? She bit her lip as anger flared in her, remembering the shame she had felt as he had simply cast her out and the pain that had stolen her breath as she looked upon Annumimas for the last time, gleaming in the noon sun like a beacon of hope for the West. She felt the sudden sting of tears as she remembered the day she turned her back on the people she so loved and quickly wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, blinking any evidence away quickly as she returned her focus to the scene before her.

The blonde elf she had met earlier had risen and angrily exclaimed something towards Boromir, who stared towards Aragorn with a combination of fascination and disgust. "Aragorn? This is Isildur's Heir?"

Aragorn sighed and gently raised a hand towards the elf, softly replying in Sindarin, "Sit down, Legolas."

Boromir was silent for a long moment, his eyes dark as he took in the King that sat before him. Amera watched cautiously as the kind, almost playful demeanor of the man she had spoken to only a few minutes ago vanished entirely. Finally, he sat down and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he laced his words with venom. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

Amera snorted at this, anger flaring up in her as she spoke up for the first time, "Gondor will always have a king so long as the Line of Elendil remains. Do you truly believe you've the right to-"

"Aragorn is right. The Ring must be destroyed. We cannot use it." Gandalf quickly spoke up, meeting Amera's eyes as he subtlety raised his hand for her to calm herself. She took a deep breath and brushed a loose wave of hair behind her ear, ignoring the look Boromir cast at her, which she noted to be a combination of fury and shock. She also noticed his jaw had dropped slightly and she chewed the inside of her lip as she struggled to contain herself, focusing her attention back to the Council.

Elrond nodded in agreement, his words slow and precise. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Suddenly, a ruddy, red haired dwarf rose and growled, raising his axe, "Then what are we waiting for?" With a cry he slammed his axe down upon the Ring as Amera flinched at the sudden noise, and then blinked in disbelief as the dwarf was thrown backwards. His axe, no doubt made of the finest materials the earth bore, was splintered as easily as wood. The dwarf slowly rose, clearly shaken, and returned to his seat as he stared in horror at the Ring.

The Council was silent; all eyes upon the Ring.

Finally, Gandalf slowly spoke, "We must remember the alliances long forsaken between the Free Peoples of Middle Earth and," he smiled gently towards Amera, "Welcome the return of those long lost to us. The Aeliniel-"

Boromir snorted loudly, rolling his eyes as he gestured a hand around the Council. "Please, our time is far too precious to be wasted upon discussing old legends."

The blonde elf, whom Amera remembered had been called Legolas by Aragorn, replied coldly, "And long has the Ring of Power thought to be nothing more than an 'old legend,' as you say, yet here it sits before us."

The dwarf spoke up, angrily running a hand through his braided beard as he sneered. "And for those of us that happen to be unfamiliar with the tales of Men, perhaps you might care to enlighten us, eh?"

Amera sat silently as she stared straight ahead, keeping her hands folded gently in her lap as she felt the sting of the words of Boromir and the dwarf. Had everything she cherished, everything she had fought for and protected all her life been simply reduced to the stuff of legend? Was that truly all she was? A myth that had longer had place in the world?

Aragorn coughed lightly and inclined his head towards the Council to gain their attention, his voice soft as he began, "After the death of Earendur, the kingdom of Arnor was divided amongst his three warring sons. Cardolan and Rhudaur given to two of the sons, while Amlaith was given Rhudaur. Amlaith chose to move his capital from Annuminás, where it had remained since the time of Isildur, to Fornost in the East. It was said the city was abandoned and as Amlaith turned one last time to bid farewell to the city of his fathers, the spirit of Lake Evendim appeared in the guise of a maiden and slowly rose from the clear waters before him."

Boromir snorted at this and rolled his eyes yet again while Amera listened with a mixture of curiosity and fear. For the first time, she was truly beginning to understand how others viewed her, though her stomach was tight with anxiety as she gauged the reactions of the Council before her. Not surprisingly, the dwarves looked utterly disinterested as some even choose to pick idly at their beard and axes, while the elves listened intently and Amera spied a small smile crossing Legolas' face. The men, however, she noted while the lingering pain of betrayal began to course through her, looked frustrated and disgusting to have their time wasted as such. She had fought alongside their ancestors, had shared the sweetness of victory and the pains of loss with the men of the West and pledged her life to protecting the City of Kings, yet they cared so little for even the memory of her actions?

"It was said she bowed before the King and vowed to protect and preserve Annuminás until the King, or those of his line, were ready to return. Amlaith laughed and left for Fornost, but never forgot the soft strength behind the words of the maiden. As he grew older and anticipated that Death would soon come for him, he decided to look once more upon the city he had so loved in his youth. He slowly walked through the abandoned streets and felt the cold marble beneath his feet as he approached the gardens of the city, where he had played and laughed with his brothers so long ago. And there," Aragorn paused for a moment, "Waited the maiden, untouched by age, as she waited for the return of the King as she had promised so long ago."

"Are we sure that this tale, as interesting as it is," the dwarf interjected sarcastically, "is essential to the Council?"

Gandalf instantly snapped back, "You would be wise to quiet yourself and simply listen, Gimli, son of Gloin." He shook his head and sighed, then continued the story as Amera sat silently, her face void of any emotion. "From then on, the rulers of Arthedain would travel to Annuminás in times of strife to seek the council of the Lake Daughter, or the Aeliniel in the old tongue. As the power of Angmar grew in the North, she left her beloved city to fight alongside the sons of Numenor at Fornost, where Glorfindel called her Dagorwen for her bravery as the combined strength of men and elves drove the Witch-King back to his shadowy throne. However, the Witch-King rose yet again to power and challenged Earnil's son, Earnur, to a duel."

Boromir sighed audibly beside Amera.

"The Aeliniel begged him to place his duty over his pride, as his people needed their king and he had produced no heirs should the worst befall him. However, he paid no heed to her pleadings and rode to Minas Morgul, from which he never returned."

Amera closed her eyes, fighting back tears as the images of the noble, doomed Earnur appeared in her mind's eyes.

Boromir suddenly cut in with yet another sigh, reclining in his chair as he waved a hand and proceeded at a speed clearly more to his preference. "And so the Aeliniel left her beloved Annuminás in despair and wandered through the world and so and so on. It's said she collapsed in heart ache in the ancient forest surrounding Isengard and the earth took pity on her, sheltering her from time and age,  
>he sighed and continued as if repeating the most basic of rules to a child, "until the heir of Elendil will return to restore the former glory of Annuminás." He brushed his hair from his eyes, "A story told to comfort wide eyed babes by their nurse maids in my city. Nothing more than an old legend designed to stir rebellion against the Stewards."<p>

The Council was silent. Amera took a deep, slow breath and slowly looked up as Gandalf calmly stated, "Perhaps the Aeliniel wishes to speak?"


	9. Chapter Eight

Silence immediately fell over the Council. Amera blinked once in surprise as Gandalf suddenly addressed her, taking note of the reactions of those around her as she searched for what to say. Her heart was beating loudly enough that she feared those beside her would hear it and she was conscious of the burning, shocked looks that were suddenly cast upon her. Drawing a deep breath, she tilted her gaze upwards but was suddenly interrupted.

"You truly think us foolish enough to believe that the Lake Daughter has returned?" The pompous gentleman scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Pretty eyes and the garb of the elves does little to convince of such myth."

"Besides," Another of the older men laughed, "What use was ever the Aeliniel? A comforting legend, yes, but comfort has no place in the dark days ahead."

An elderly dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes, scratching at his wild beard as he sighed. "Waste not our time, Lord Elrond. What concern have the dwarves with the affairs of men?"

Unable to contain herself any further, Amera rose and pointed a hand towards the ring, her sleeve billowing gently as she stared in obvious disgust at those surrounding her. "Waste not your time? There, before you, lies the doom of you and all that you love, master dwarf! And while you may choose to sit and scoff, the Dark Lord prepares." The Council was silent, shocked by the passionate outburst as she continued, "Even now as we sit and argue, Sauron grows in strength, ever seeking dominion over the mountains and caverns so beloved of _your_ people," She turned to face those who represented the race of men, "And he will see the shining walls of Minas Tirith dirtied with the filth of his armies, the strength and pride of the men of the West erased from history and memory." She took a deep breath now, gaining control as she shook her head one final time, her voice filled with quiet desperation. "The Free Peoples of this Middle Earth must either unite against this darkness or one by one, we shall fall and any hope will forever be lost."

Silence. Amera felt a slight flush rise in her cheeks as she sat, smoothing out her robes and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She swallowed hard as she did her best to gauge the reactions of those around, confused by the conflicting emotions of pride and anxiety that coursed through her. But, she noticed with a deep, inward sigh of relief, there sat Gandalf across the courtyard, his attempts at hiding a proud grin defeated by the twinkling of his eyes.

"And what proof have we that you're the Aeliniel, lass?" A soft voice spoke up and Amera turned to face its source, taking notice of a silver haired man for the first time. She felt the intensity of his gaze upon her and was surprised by the soft curiosity. His question had not been of ill intent, she decided, but unless she was mistaken, but of something like hope. Closing her eyes, she silently removed her circlet and slipped towards the center of the Council. She carefully gathered her hair and let it all over one shoulder, tilting her neck to further expose the low cut of the back of her robe, exposing her prominent shoulder blades and pale back to the Council. And there, appearing barely healed since the moment of their birth, lay the four ragged slashes that crossed from the upper right of her back to her hip, hidden beneath the soft fabric of her robes.

A quiet murmur ran through the Council and Amera softly continued, her eyes closed. "Wounds given by the cursed steel of Angmar will never truly heal." She then moved her hair once more to cover her back, her voice filled with gentle determination as she addressed the Council one last time. "I once fought alongside men and elves against the shadows of Angmar on the shores of Evendim, taking up arms alongside the fathers and ancestors of many here so that hope might be preserved. And so it was," She slowly looked around the courtyard, catching Aragorn's deep gaze for a moment longer than the rest. "And now, as this hope is yet again threatened, I would fight once more alongside the Free Peoples of Middle Earth."

And as the eyes of men, dwarves and elves fell upon the woman who stood before them, her flickering eyes lit with determination and the glow of passion evident in her striking face, there lay no doubt in the hearts of those present that the Aeliniel had truly returned.

"While I was certainly moved by your," Elrond paused as he searched for the right word, "_spontaneous_ actions, I believe it best that you rethink your decision, Aeliniel."

Amera reached for to refill her cup to hide the flush that immediately appeared in her cheeks, attempting her very best to hide her embarrassment as she replied. "I fear I do not understand what you imply, my lord. I…I apologize for speaking out of my turn at the Council and assure I meant no ill will by speaking my mind, as childish as my actions were."

"That is not what I mean." He sighed and turned to face out over Imladris, watching the burning sun reflect in the mist of the waterfalls that encircled the valley as it set. "While your actions were no doubt gracious, noble in fact, I think it would best if you reconsidered your aid to the Fellowship."

Amera paused for a moment, tilting her head slightly in confusion as she set down her glass and slowly rose to feet. Unable to believe what was certainly implied, she questioned further. "I made no mistake when I told Frodo I would aid him as I could and I certainly would not rescind that vow, my lord, if that is what you mean."

"Aeliniel, Middle Earth has great need of you, that cannot be denied, but I cannot forsee that your aid will be of most use within the Fellowship."

Amera simply stared in disbelief.

Elrond sighed yet again and turned to face her, his wise eyes troubled as he explained. "My heart tells me your place lies here, in Imladris, until the armies of the Free People gather once more. While the men of Gondor may certainly be as stubborn as ever they have been when helped is offered unto them, Theoden of Rohan may have need of your council."

"You would not have me join the Fellowship, Elrond."

"I would not."

Amera trembled and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath so as to control the biting words threatening to escape her lips at any moment, her hands shaking in disbelief. "Yet you would send the Ring to Mordor in a group containing four halflings who have barely learned to handle a blade, much less experienced anything that could even vaguely resemble a battle?"

"You are needed here, Aeliniel."

She angrily opened her burning eyes, sweeping her hair back over her ear. "I may often act with my heart and wrongly ignore my head, Lord Elrond, I will not deny that, but it is not lightly that I take any oath, much less one such as this."

Elrond shook his head as he sighed, moving a hand to gesture towards shadow of the moon, now shining brightly in the sky. "And your vow was not taken in vain, but was simply misplaced. Your place is here, Aeliniel."

Shaking now with confusion and fury, as well as a good bit of hurt, Amera stammered. "What more must I prove, Elrond? Were my actions at Fornost and in accompanying your _daughter _not enough to assure you of my intentions? Do you think me incapable of protecting both myself and others upon such a mission?"

Elrond took notice of the intensity of her pain and strode towards her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders as he calmly replied. "Of course not. Your skills with a blade rival, if not better, many of the Eldar." Amera did not appear contented by this statement, so he sighed and turned away as he furthered his explanation. "Nine riders were sent forth from Minas Morgul, as well you know, and nine there should be to counter them, to create a balance between the light and the dark."

Amera stared at him for a long moment in disbelief, squinting as she slowly challenged. "You do not wish me to accompany the Fellowship because I would be the _tenth _member?"

Elrond shook his head, "It is one of many reasons, Aeliniel. I know this is difficult for you to hear but you must understand."

"Well, I don't understand, to be quite honest." She sat down and rubbed her forehead, issuing a deep sigh. "My place is with the Ringbearer!"

"You must trust me in this, child."

Amera flinched at this, but made no reply. She simply stared towards the door, her jaw clenched as her eyes blazed with a restrained flame.

"In time you will come to see the wisdom in my actions, though it may take time." Upon no reaction from Amera, Elrond silently moved to the door of her room and opened it to leave, glancing over his shoulder and quietly finishing, "Have faith, Aeliniel."

The door shut. Amera waited a few moments and stood, listening to the footfall of Elrond fade away. When it was silent, she stared at the cup in her hand blankly, then cursed loudly and slammed it against the table.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Well, would you look at the mess you've gotten us into! Gandalf'll be fit to hit us upside the head with that staff of his when we get back!"

Merry rolled his eyes, scanning the surrounding hills for any sign of the Fellowship as he shivered slightly, wrapping his arms over his chest to stay warm as the evening air grew chiller and chiller with the setting of the sun. "We're not in any sort of mess, Sam. We're just," He paused and shrugged, "Taking our time returning, that's all."

Sam glared. "Gandalf didn't even want us out here! Why didn't you let Boromir come with us?"

Merry sighed audibly as he sat down, resting for a moment as he glanced up to his friend, who was clearly growing more and more anxious as the shadows around them seem to grow. "I just fancied a bit of fresh produce, Sam. I hadn't expected the lack of _anything_, I'll have you know."

Frodo spoke up for the first time, clearly nervous as his fingers wrapped around the hilt of Bilbo's old sword, "Do you think they're out looking for us?"

"Of course they are," Merry grinned comfortingly, "Last time I checked, you're rather important, Frodo."

Sam fidgeted as he turned his attention to the sun, now just a dying orb, barely visible on the horizon as the stars gently began to shine down. "He's gonna' kill us, Merry, and it's going to be your fault."

Repressing a retort, Merry rose to his feet and carefully scanned the hills surrounding them as he raised a hand to his brow. Not wishing to be treated some sort of child, he had insisted that Sam, Frodo and himself were perfectly capable of going on a quick search to see if any edible, hopefully delicious, sorts of plants could be found. Pippin, of course, had been taking a quick nap and muttered something incoherent when Merry gave him a nudge and inquired if he wished to go along. So, the three of them had scanned the unyielding, rocky ground and had come up empty handed….and lost, though he wouldn't admit it. Somewhere along their small adventure, the outlines of their company had disappeared from the distance and they found themselves unable to determine the direction from they which they had first come.

They wandered on, sticking close together as the wind began to pick up, tousling their hairs and sending shivers down their spines. The moon shone above their heads and cast down elegant shadows that contrasted against the rough terrain beneath their feet, disguising the dangers of the unfamiliar lands with beauty. They were silent as they continued on, with the exception of an occasionally mumble or pessimistic remark from Sam.

"Oy! Over there!" Sam's voice suddenly shattered the quiet, startling Merry as he squinted to focus his eyes on what Sam was frantically gesturing towards. Sure enough, just up a small incline and nestled in a grove of shrubs was a fire, glittering welcomingly.

Merry grinned broadly, secretly relieved to the point of tears. "There! Told you we weren't lost!"

Frodo, however, did not share in the enthusiasm. "Wait, shouldn't they be calling out for us?" He stared towards the distant fire, eyes narrowed. However, Sam took no heed and began to bound ahead, racing towards what hopefully would be a warm return and not a verbal beating from Gandalf. After a quick moment's thought, Merry ran behind Sam up the small hill, watching the moonlight light his way.

At the edge of the little clearly, Sam abruptly stopped and Merry smacked into the back of him, nearly falling over as he snapped, "Thanks for the warning, Sam!" However, upon no reply, he perked a brow and stepped beside Sam, his eyes widening in horror as he discovered the reasoning behind his friend's unexpected change of motion.

There, watching with glittering, dark eyes, were four of the largest, filthiest men Merry had ever seen, huddled around what had once been a rabbit, but was now reduced to a tangle of remains. Running a hand through his tangled, thick hair, one on of them rose and placed his hand against the hilt of a crude dagger. He grinned widely, revealing teeth as dirty as the stinking hides that covered his muscular body as he nodded to his three companions in a thick, slow accent. "Look what we got here."

Merry took a step back, desperately hoping Frodo had the sense neither Sam nor himself possessed to have stayed back, undiscovered for now. Sam turned slightly, ready to run, but this motion alerted the wild men, who instantly drew their weapons and surrounded the frightened hobbits. Merry trembled in fear as he felt the eyes of the largest of the men scan over him and cried out, with all the strength he could muster, "Strider!"

With a growl, the leader dealt Merry a savage blow with the back of his hand, knocking him to the ground as Sam caught out, crying out, "Gandalf! Legolas!" Another of the men rushed forward and wrapped a dirty hand over his mouth, roaring, "Quiet!"

Both Merry and Sam continued to yell as loudly as they could, but their voices were now muffled as they were silenced. Each was held by one of the men, while the leader carefully inspected them. "We ain't seen anyone out here for weeks, little ones. Care to tell us where your friends are?" When both Sam and Merry were silent, he stepped forward and hissed, spittle flying from his lips. "Then let's see whether or not they can hear your screaming, eh?"

Merry closed his eyes, trembling furiously as he prepared himself to feel the cold steel against his flesh. If nothing else, he decided as he heard Sam's muffled cries, Frodo would escape. He had to.

Then, there was the sudden sound of choking and a distinct _splashing_. His eyes opened immediately, widening in horror and confusion as the leader clutched helplessly at the gash that split his throat, dark blood spilling forth as he slowly fell to his knees. The other men immediately dropped the hobbits, clutching their swords as Merry and Sam scrambled back, watching as a shadow suddenly appeared, flickering in the firelight. One of the men struck at it with a sword and it easily parried the attack with a flash of steel, turning and driving the blade through the man's chest, kicking upwards with a foot and pushing him easily off the blade as he fell with a mottled scream to the ground.

"Strider! Gandalf!" Sam's voice beside him freed Merry from his paralyzing terror. Swallowing hard, he began to call out for help as well, watching helplessly as the shadow continued to fight, slicing its sword through the air effortlessly and without remorse, a dark cloak swirling around the figure as it twisted and turned almost elegantly, as if in a dance instead of a duel. However, the ground was rocky and uneven and the figure suddenly lurched forward as it lost its footing. One of the two remaining men took advantage of the temporary weakness and slashed with a crude axe. The figure let out a small cry of pain as the weapon brushed its arm and tore through the armor, but responded with a furious strike of his own as blood slowly trickled from the wound. Frodo suddenly appeared in the firelight and slashed at the man with his own slender blade and Merry realized that in his terror he had forgotten his own sword. Still crying out for the rest of the Fellowship at the top of his small lungs, he rose and rushed forward as the figure gave the final blow, driving his sword in the man's chest without remorse. It turned to face the last man, blade raised and at the ready.

The wild man fell to his knees, sobbing in fear as the bloods of his companions slowly stained his own filthy rags. "Please-please, just let me go. I won't tell no one about you all, I promise. I _swear _it." He held up his hands, tears leaving slight paths down his dirtied cheeks. "Don't kill me. _Please._"

The figure stared at him from beneath a dark cowl and Merry thought for a moment that he would spare the pleading man, but before anyone could so much as utter a word, the blade flashed once more in the moonlight and was stained with crimson as the man fell the side, his eyes frozen wide. The figure slowly turned to face the hobbit sheathed his blade and placed a hand over the blossoming stain on his left arm, abruptly stating. "Does Gandalf know you're out adventuring on your own?"

Merry's jaw dropped as he recognized the voice and was about to respond when an arrow flew through the air, barely missing the figure, who gasped and turned to face the direction from where it had come. And sure enough, the moonlight revealed five figures to be sprinting over the rocky terrain, two of whom were quite a bit taller than the remainder.

Their cloaked savior cried out, "I'm a _friend_!," in a distinctively feminine voice as it reached a hand to draw back the cowl that obscured its face, but was interrupted as Boromir suddenly came flying out from the darkness, smashing his shield into its back with a roar. With a muffled '_Oof,'_ the figure flew face first into the ground and groaned as it slowly turned on its back, freezing as Boromir's blade was instantly at its throat.

Frodo rushed forward and put his hand over Boromir's wrist, exclaiming, "No!" And, in return, Boromir shot the hobbit a look of sheer confusion.

By now, Gandalf and the rest had arrived at the edge of the campsite with weapons drawn; a panting Pippin nearly collapsing with exhaustion behind Gimli. The figure groaned yet again as Gandalf roared, "And just what exactly have you gotten yourself into, Meriadoc Brandybuck?," and pointed to the enormous amount of blood, and bodies, now scattered about.

Before he could answer, Boromir knelt down and roughly tore away the hood of the prisoner below him, only to stare in complete disbelief as he lowered his sword. The rest of the Fellowship stared in utter surprise, as well, except for Gandalf, who strode forward and let out a disgruntled sigh, "Did you think this would be the best way to announce your presence, then?"

"Well, I had not expected to be required to kill a few Dunlendings this evening, if that's what you're inquiring," The figure replied with a quiet snort as it examined the wound on its arm, slowly sitting up. "Still, I should think a 'thank you' to be in order, before you chastise me. After all, it seems I managed to help a third of your party through my unannounced presence."

Rolling his eyes, Gandalf huffed. "Absolutely not. You nearly were killed by your own allies in your recklessness. If anything, you should thank Boromir for not finishing you on the spot."

"A fact I am quite grateful for, indeed," Amera replied with a tired smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera let out a sharp wince, biting down on her lip as Aragorn finished wrapping a strip of cloth around the wound on her arm, who in turn quietly remarked, "Nothing more than an ugly looking scratch, though no doubt a painful one."

She gave a curt nod of thanks and scooted herself closer to the fire, drawing her cloak tightly around herself as the rest of the Fellowship watched her with a combination of curiosity and shock. Finally, Gimli spoke up, perking a bushy brow towards Amera. "I think you'll be owing us a bit of an explanation now, lass."

Amera shifted slightly, brushing her hair from her eyes as she grew clearly uncomfortable. "I've just sort of been trailing behind you for a few days now," She shrugged, "Scouting about in case something should happen that you were unaware of."

Legolas perked a brow. "I thought that Lord Elrond had deemed it best that you wait behind in Imladris, or so Gandalf had told me when you did not leave with us." He nodded towards her small pack of supplies. "I see he has outfitted you for the journey. Has his mind changed?"

Amera suddenly became exceptionally interested in her fingernails, examining them closely as she quickly muttered. "Not precisely."

Gandalf pulled out his pipe as he rested his back against a large boulder and began to smoke. "Go on, Amera, you may as well tell them the truth."

She was quiet for a moment, bracing herself as she finally sighed. "Well, I did not exactly have his permission to accompany you all." Gandalf snorted and gestured for her to continue, which she did only after steeling herself for the reactions of those around her. "Lord Elrond does not know I am here."

Boromir stared at her, uttering each word slowly to make sure he had not somehow misunderstood. He gestured to her pack as well as the leather and robes that clothed her, clearly of elven design. "You mean you _stole_ all of this?"

"I did _not _steal it," Amera snapped, then fidgeted slightly. "I simply borrowed it without his explicit permission." Upon seeing the looks of horror upon the faces of the Fellowship, save an utterly bemused Gandalf, she quickly defended herself. "While I greatly value the wisdom of Elrond Half-Elven, I…I know that my place is here." Her eyes flickered against the glow of the flames. "I cannot explain my reasoning, but I know in my heart that I am to be of some use to you all."

Gimli let out a loud guffaw, grinning widely in the moonlight. "It should seem we've another burglar in the company, just as when my father retook the Lonely Mountain. Have you any dealings with dragons then, eh?"

Amera was pleased at the comparison, but did not let it show as her gaze traveled to Aragorn, who held up a hand with a gentle sigh. "While we are grateful for your actions, Amera, I think it unwise to openly defy the wishes of Lord Elrond. While I would personally be honored to have you join us, it is not my decision to cast."

"No, it is not indeed." Gandalf spoke up, pausing from his pipe to slowly gesture towards Frodo, who had sat silently beside Sam for the entirety of the conversation, until now. "That choice rests with the Ringbearer."

Frodo blinked at this, clearly uncomfortable as everyone's gaze slowly shifted to him. "I… I do not see why we should deny aid that is offered to us, especially from a friend."

Gandalf grinned at this, nodding in finality. "Then it should seem you've been granted permission to join us, Amera Dagorwen, instead of sneaking behind us like a lost puppy."

A clearly relieved Amera snorted at this, "I should have you know that I've done nothing but clean the messes you've been leaving behind, Gandalf. For a mission of such utmost secrecy, you've been leaving quite a trail."

Gandalf perked a brow at this, taking a long draw from his pipe before gently replying with mischievous eyes. "Indeed, almost as if I had wanted someone to be able find us and in turn announce their presence when they felt it best."

She was silent for a long moment, then broke into a wide, rare grin. "You knew all along."

He smiled bemusedly. "I had suspected it. After all, you've rather made a name for yourself disobeying orders after all these years."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They awoke the next morning at dawn and destroyed what evidence remained of their camp before they continued on, packing their supplies swiftly after a quick breakfast mostly designed to satiate the seemingly bottomless stomachs of the halflings. Amera readily offered to help, but Sam seemed nervous when the ancient earth spirit had asked if he needed help with the potatoes, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes occasionally, but she was either oblivious to this or had simply gotten used to such curiosity over the course of her long life.

She was dressed in dark blue robes trimmed with black that cut open at her thighs to reveal dark leggings, her chest covered with an intricately detailed leather vest, swirling and spiraling in typical elvish design. Her robe had been stowed away in her pack, along with the cowl that had obscured all but her eyes beneath her hood, so her bright eyes shone in the morning light as she smiled and made light conversation with Gandalf and Pippin, mostly discussing events she had missed during her absence. A blade rested at her side, shorter than the longswords that Aragorn and Gandalf carried, but certainly longer than the daggers than the hobbits carried, slightly curved in its elegant sheath. Frodo had noticed upon stealthy inspection as they walked onwards, noticed two daggers hidden in the folds of her robe at her waist and suspected at least another to be hidden in her right boot, judging by the occasional glint of steel. Leather bracers covered her forearm, engraved with the leaves, and tapered into gloves that cut roughly to her knuckle, leading Frodo to further suspect she had cut off the fingers herself.

If nothing else, she had certainly stolen well, he decided as he watched her silently climb up the rocky terrain, her dark hair streaming behind her. Unlike when he had last seen her at the Council, she looked the part of the warrior, any elegance cast aside in favor of usefulness. Around midday, they stopped to rest and prepare a quick meal before continuing onwards, much to Sam's delight as he excitedly readied a fire and his assortment of pots and pans.

Gimli then spoke up, casting a glance towards Amera, who was absently chewing on an apple and looking out over the empty plains they had slowly been crossing for the past week. "I should like to start by saying that I did pay attention to your tale at the Council, but I don't quite think I yet understand it." Amera perked a brow at this and rested her elbow on her knee as she waited for him to continue. "Perhaps I'm the only one that's a bit confused, but," He cast an obvious look towards Sam, who blushed furiously and busied himself with the cooking food, "I decided I might speak up for those too shy to ask themselves. Just what exactly are you then? Because, unless I'm mistake, you're a _lake_."

Amera choked a bit on her apple at this, clearly surprised by the question as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set down her apple, confused by just how to respond as the rest of the Fellowship turned their attention towards her. Blushing very slightly, she began, "Your kind, master dwarf, has always been close to the earth, is that not so?"

Gimli beamed proudly at this. "Of course, how else would we be able to craft the best weapons and armor in all of Middle if we did not understand the earth?"

Legolas gave a loud snort at this, but was silenced by a dark look from Gandalf as Amera continued with a small smile, "And sometimes, does it not seem miraculous when a new deposit of ore is discovered simply because of a whim? Is it sheer chance that your kind is drawn to the riches that the earth has to offer or instead is it more logical to think that the nature occasionally whispers to us, influencing us without our very knowledge in order to aid us?"

Gimli nodded after a moment, so she went on. "And sometimes, we grow so concerned with our own immediate affairs that we ignore what nature so desperately wishes to share with us." Frodo was surprised by her use of 'we', but made no mention of it. "So, in order to finally gain our attention after many attempts, the earth may choose to speak to us in a form we understand."

Legolas spoke up, casting a look towards Gimli, who seemed to be having difficulty wrapping his head around the idea as he tugged on his beard. "And when men abandoned the shores of Annuminas, their capital and the resting place of their ancestors, and Annuminas wished to reassure them that what they left behind would be protected and cherished, what better form to take than one they would instantly recognize?"

"And thus was born Aeliniel." Gandalf calmly stated and Amera nodded, smiling shyly.

"Well, I do suppose that makes much more sense when you put it that way," Gimli shrugged, "But there's one last thing I've been, ah, meaning to ask." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a crimson blush appearing in his ruddy cheeks as Amera gave him a confused look. "I've been gettin' the idea that you're some sort of fighter, which I greatly respect and all, but uh, well," He blustered and Amera slowly perked a brow, clearly nervous about where the question might lead. "Why exactly are you a woman, then, if your purpose was to be a warrior?"

Boromir choked on his water, clearly stifling a laugh, but Amera ignored it as she remained silent for a long moment, finally replying softly. "It was never my intention to be any sort of warrior, I assure you that." She brushed her hair behind an ear and cast a flickering glance to Boromir, who met it full on. "I was simply supposed to be a Steward of Annuminas, until the heirs of Elendil should come to reclaim what rightfully belongs to them." She then turned her gaze back to Gimli, shrugging before taking another bite of her apple. "However, when I found that fighting would be more or less required for me to best fulfill my duty, I trained to the best of my ability."

"And trained well, she did," Gandalf nodded towards Amera, who blushed further. "If her actions last night with the Dunlendings were not enough to convince any of you, I suggest you return to Imladris and speak with Glorfindel." He glared at Boromir, who shifted slightly in something vaguely resembling apology.

And so, after a few more uncomfortable minutes of eating in silence, the Fellowship continued onwards with their long journey.


	11. Chapter Ten

Frodo awoke with a gasp, drenching in a cold sweat as he trembled, his lungs sucking in the chill night air. Already he had begun to feel the toll of the Ring on his spirits, though he tried his best to keep this hidden from Sam and the rest, for he knew they worried greatly about him. And, as if to reaffirm his fears, he slowly removed his hand from the Ring and examined the deep imprint it had left upon his palm from when he must have clutched it in his sleep. Restless and disturbed, he slowly rose and quietly crept around the sleeping forms of his friends, hoping the stars and fresh air might calm his nerves.

Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he paused as he noticed a small figure sitting atop one of the large boulders scattered throughout Eregion, looking up at the night sky. He glanced back towards the rest of the Fellowship, taking note of who was sleeping, and realized that it was Amera who had strayed away, seemingly content to sit alone in the night. He carefully climbed up beside her and she smiled faintly at him, concern evident in her eyes. "I had not expected any to be up at this hour. You should be resting."

Frodo stared up at the night sky, the patterns of the stars he knew so well in the Shire were different here and he felt a sudden yearning in his heart for his home swell up in him and he struggled to fight back against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Amera watched him, though not unkindly, for a moment longer and quietly asked. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Frodo Baggins? I assure you that is not my attention."

Frodo blinked, surprised by the gentle honesty in her voice. He turned to face her, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight as he slowly responded. "That Dunlending begged for his life and you did not even consider it." He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb in the indentation still remaining from the Ring. "You killed him so swiftly, Amera, that it frightened me. I know that war is cruel, or at least I have been told that is, but I cannot erase the fear in his eyes from my mind."

Amera smiled ever so faintly, her hair flowing gently around her face so slowly that it almost appeared to be submerged in water, moving in course with the ripples and flow of one of the brooks of the Shire he knew so well. "It says much of your character, Frodo, that you would think to show mercy to one of your enemies, though they would certainly show none unto you, should the roles ever be reversed." She lay a hand carefully against his shoulder, as if unused to the motion, and he surprised by the coolness of her skin. "But you must understand, should I have granted the Dunlending his life, he may have returned to his village with his orders from Saruman and upon further inquiry, would have revealed your location to the rest of his kin, who in turn would have used such information to curry favor with Saruman." Her smile disappeared as she turned back to the look up at the stars. "Such a risk could not have been taken."

She sighed quietly after a pause and Frodo turned to look at her, recognizing the sorrow that appeared in her stormy eyes as Amera whispered, "I was not born a warrior, Frodo, I was made into one. Life is so very precious that it breaks my heart to end it for another, but it is required of me. And," Her jaw set as she finished, "Over time, I have become very good at it. So good, in fact, that it terrifies me."

For the first time, Frodo thought she looked weary, her striking face suddenly set with worry and doubt and he replied, "You are burdened, as well."

She turned to him, offering a small, bittersweet smile. "I have been since the day I rose from the waters of Evendim."

And so the Ringbearer and the Aeliniel sat in silence, staring up at the unfamiliar stars together as each recognized that perhaps they were not so very alone, after all.

OOOOOOO

The next days passed uneventfully, but were long and arduous as the terrain grew difficult as elevation increased and each member of the Fellowship began to feel the toll of their journey. Each sunrise became more unwelcoming as they rose, their limbs tired and sore as they gave in grateful to their weariness each night. Amera quickly grew so comfortable with the rest of her companions that it was as if she had left Rivendell by their side, instead of "joining" a week later; a welcome addition to the Fellowship. She often spoke with Gandalf and Aragorn while traveling, who further explained some of the events of the past thousand years to her and her curious mind was ever ready for more history and lore. During the evenings, she entertained the hobbits with tales of the kings she had served and events she had witnessed, her eyes lighting up as she recalled more and more of her past. Boromir, who was never outright cold to Amera, but stayed distant, also paid close attention to the history of his people as she recounted it, but feigned disinterest by polishing his sword repeatedly.

However, she grew closest to Legolas, who helped her practice her archery after she had asked, with exceptional and nervous politeness, if she might borrow Aragorn's bow. She would often become rather annoyed at Legolas, who was an exceptional archer, but a least than sympathetic teacher. Unable to understand why her arrows never exactly hit the mark, he would ask Amera to focus more and she, in return, would snap that a thousand years of rest did not exactly help one's skill with a bow. The rest of the Fellowship drew great amusement from this and would always do their best to subtlety listen as Amera was unable to hide her frustration and would mutter a stunning array of decidedly unladylike things under her breath once Legolas had walked out of earshot.

One afternoon, as the Fellowship decided to rest their sore limbs, Merry and Pippin had asked Boromir to help them improve their skill with a blade, or in all honesty, lack thereof. Boromir seemed bemused by such a request, but nonetheless drew his blade and slowly began to teach the eager hobbits how to parry and thrust. Amera sat quietly beside Gimli who spoke to her of the marvels of his people and encouraged her to one day visit Moria to better understand the true craftsmanship of the dwarves. The initial request had been quite flattering to her, but now that she was being reminded of the superiority of dwarven armor and weaponry every few hours, she did her best to simply tune him out and give the occasional nod of agreement, watching the mock battle between the man of Gondor and the halflings with amusement.

Boromir, rather to her surprise, was a far better teacher than Legolas and carefully explained to a wide-eyed Merry how to grip a blade properly, laughing and quickly dodging as he gave a sudden, clumsy swing. "There we are! Perhaps a bit more practice and you'll be able to deal quite a bit of damage!"

Pippin was clearly more uncomfortable and stared at the dagger in his hand as if it might suddenly bite him, nervously holding it before him as Boromir carefully instructed him how to turn his wrist to quickly shift the angle of the blade. As their practice continued and Boromir began to lightly spar with them, encouraging them all the while, Amera took note, Merry grew more and more proud of his improvement while Pippin seemed to grew more anxious than ever. Upon being easily disarmed by Boromir, who then gently retrieved the blade and offered it back to him, Pippin sighed angrily, clearly upset. "Don't bother, Boromir, this sort of thing just isn't for me, I think."

"Pippin, you cannot expect to be a master swordsman only a month after picking up a sword for the very first time. Give it some practice. I'll help you as best I can," Boromir reassured him, offering a soft smile.

"You can't expect me to be able to hold my own against anything, let's be honest." Pippin shrugged, a tremor in his voice, "I was useless at Weathertop and I doubt that'll change."

Amera stood up and gently smoothed out her robe, retrieving her sword from beside her pack and removing it from its sheath as she laid a free hand upon Pippin's shoulder. "I should greatly doubt that, Pippin. I'll have you know the first time I ever picked up a sword, it turned out to be much heavier than I expected and I nearly sliced off a few toes when I dropped it."

She saw Boromir perk a brow from the corner of her eye, but continued as Pippin looked unconvinced. "What I mean to say is, the only way we can get better is if we practice and if we practice, we can recognize our strengths."

Pippin snorted at this, "And what sort of strengths do you suppose I have, then?"

She smiled brightly, "Some of the very ones I possess, I should say." She knelt beside him, gesturing towards Boromir. "Look at Boromir for a moment, what do you immediately see?"

Boromir looked uncomfortable and Pippin seemed resistant, but a slight glare from Amera encouraged him. After a long moment, he replied, "He's very strong, very proud. You can immediately tell he's a warrior."

Amera grinned and nodded, then stood up and spread her arms, lowering her head slightly. "Now, imagine you know nothing of who I am, that we've never met before, what exactly do you immediately think?"

Pippin immediately grew a deep shade of crimson and began to shift his weight from foot to foot, blustering, "Well, erm, you're rather skinny and…and a girl."

Amera snickered and rolled her eyes, offering a gentle smile. "Let us be honest. I look as though a bit of wind could threaten to blow me over. And," She nodded firmly. "Therein lies my advantage. You see, no one truly expects you and I to put up any sort of challenge and as such we can use their surprise as a weakness."

Pippin brightened at this after a moment, letting it sink into his mind as he nodded. "I suppose that does make a good bit of sense."

Amera then turned to Boromir, offering a small bow as she questioned, "Would you do me the honor of a quick spar to further demonstrate something?"

Boromir blinked at this, glancing over Amera as he finally replied, "I should not think that the wisest course of action, Amera."

Amera rolled her eyes at this and readied her blade, lightly spinning it around her wrist as she dropped her knees into a defensive stance. "Oh please, Boromir, if the Witch-King couldn't kill me, I doubt a spar with a friend will be my undoing." Boromir hesitated once more and the glare he received was enough for him to put aside his pride, though he did so with a great sigh as he too prepared himself, arguing back. "I refuse to be blamed if something should happen."

Amera grinned wickedly at this and before he could say anything further, Boromir found himself on the defense from a flurry of strikes, moving backwards cautiously as she slowly inched forward with each thrust. For what strength her blows lacked as they danced against his own blade, she certainly made up for it with her speed, twisting and turning elegantly and ever ready to strike should a weakness be revealed. He then responded with a strong strike of his own, moving on the attack as Amera parried it and stepped backwards, her deep, rippling eyes flashing in the pale afternoon light. He continued forward, doing his best to hide a grin as Amera's defenses became increasingly urgent, her slender arms unable to compete with the strength built in his over years and years of service to Gondor. He caught a distinct look of panic in her eyes and, not wishing to humiliate her in front of the others, and decided it would be best to simply pretend his arm had slipped and thus let her regain the advantage and win. However, before his plan could be completed, Amera suddenly moved strangely, shifting her weight and flicking out a foot and he blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself looking up at the clouds overhead. He then let out a pained huff of surprise as his back collided with the ground, freezing as he opened his eyes to find the gleam of a blade just above his throat and his eyes traveled the length of the sword to meet Amera's twinkling eyes. "And that, Pippin, is how speed and the unexpected can work to defeat an opponent."

She then resheathed her sword and extended a hand to Boromir, who took it with a good bit of embarrassment as Amera strained to help his strong frame from the ground. She smirked ever so slightly at him, running a hand through her hair as she murmured, "That was for knocking the wind out of me with your enormous shield." She then turned and quietly strolled back to Gimli, who was doubled over in laughter at this point. Yet, as Boromir brushed dirt from his armor and pretended his ego was hurt in absolutely no way, after all, he had been dueling against _a two thousand year old legend_, he could not help but think that he had seen something like admiration in the eyes of the Aeliniel, gleaming faintly from the deep, flickering pools as she had glanced at him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Amera silently strolled through the library of Annuminas, watching the specks of dust glitter in the afternoon light as she absently ran her fingers along the leather tomes, carefully preserved for future generations to under, and learn from, the trials of their ancestors. She examined the shelves and empty tables, making sure all was in place before she continued her inspection to the armory. Her bare feet gently padded against the marble floors as she lifted the ends of her robes, carefully walking down the flight of stairs in the courtyard outside. She opened the stone door with a quiet grunt and glanced inside, her eyes scouring the racks of armor and weapons meticulously lined up against the walls, shining after all these years. With a satisfied nod, she turned and decided she might search for a new book in the library before retiring to the gardens to the evening, but paused half way up the stairs and slowly turned round once more._

_ She opened the door yet again and quietly stepped into the armory, staring at the unfamiliar weapons cautiously as she stepped towards a row of longswords and raised a hand to delicately brush the hilt of one. The touch of cold, unforgiving steel was unfamiliar to her and she flinched, withdrawing her hand immediately. She had often polished the sets of armor, working to give each piece the sheen it deserved until her arms and back had ached, but she never touched the weapons. Something about them frightened her, despite their undeniable beauty._

_ Taking a deep breath and without truly thinking, she reached forth and grabbed the hilt of a longsword, feeling her fingers wrap around the leather naturally, as if it was a familiar, and not entirely alien, motion. However, the longsword was much heavier than she expected and she shrieked as her arm was unable to support the weight. The weapon went sailing downwards from its mantle and she leapt back, nearly trembling as a metallic clang rang through the crowded chamber as the sword fell to the floor. After a long moment, she ever so carefully retrieved it and restored it to its place on the wall, lifting it with a good bit of effort despite the use of both hands. Disheartened and embarrassed, she decided it best to restore once more to books, where the worse injury she could receive was a paper cut, but in the corner of her eye, she noticed a blade different than the rest._

_ It was longer than a dagger but shorter than the longsword which had very nearly cost her a few toes, its blade straight and shining, as was custom for the weapons of Arnor. She slowly reached out a hand once more, her fingers gently brushing against the worn leather of the hilt as she –_

"Amera! Hurry!"

Amera flinched as something suddenly hit her, groaning as her eyes snapped open and she found herself greeted by sunlight. Greatly confused, she ran a hand through her hair and squinted as she glanced around, yawning openly as she mumbled, "What? What have I done now?"

She blinked and let out a muffled protest as she suddenly found herself yanked from the little ledge she had been napping upon, flailing in surprise as a hand suddenly appeared on her shoulder. Eyes open wide as she was immediately awake, she looked over her shoulder to see the rest of the Fellowship hurriedly scrambling beneath brush and rock, taking their packs with them. Before she could protest or question just what exactly was going on, she found herself pressed up against Legolas as he placed a hand over her mouth, lowering his head to whisper to her, "Spies of Saruman approach, Amera."

She fidgeted and he removed his hand, giving her a small nod of reassurance as she did her best to remain perfectly still, though certainly uncomfortable with her position, which consisted of being awkwardly sandwiched being the rock that dug roughly into her back and the chest of the elven prince, who carefully raised a hand to move aside the branches of the bush that sheltered them, his eyes narrowing as a strange noise filled the air.

Amera's eyes widened further in surprise as the sudden swarm of crows filled the sky, screeching shrilly as they flew overhead. She had heard that Saruman used birds as ways to gather information, yes, but she certainly had not expected him to use such an enormous amount as spies. From the corners of her eyes, she spotted Gimli wedged almost comically into a crevice that she would not have believed would accommodate his size, as well as Aragorn and Boromir, who did their best to share the small space beneath a shrub.

After what seemed like an eternity to Amera, who was growing increasingly cramped and claustrophobic, the crebain finally flew into the distance, the flapping of their wings slowly disappearing from earshot. Once Aragorn began to stand up, Amera immediately rushed to free herself from the shrub, scratching herself on its rough branches as a result as she swiftly rose. Boromir, she noticed, perked a brow in her direction, noting the lack of distance between herself and Legolas they had hid.

Amera glared, then turned her attention back to Gandalf, who sighed deeply as he brushed loose bits of dirt from his robe. "Clearly, the Gap of Rohan will not serve as a suitable path."

"What other choice have we, Gandalf?" Legolas spoke up, Amera noticed with an inward roll of her eyes, appeared as absolutely stunning as ever, despite spending the past few minutes trapped in a shrub.

"As I've said _many _a time before," Gimli huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, "Moria will provide us with shelter, warmth and allies while we continue! Now that Rohan's been rightly cleared from our list of options, I see no reason for us not to continue onwards there!"

"Gondor continues to be an option, as well," Boromir stated, seemingly insulted that his beloved city had yet to be mentioned. "My men will provide us with the safety we need while we travel closer to Mordor."

"No," Gandalf slowly shook his head, "Our best route will be one shrouded in secrecy."

"And where exactly will that be, then?" Pippin chimed up.

Gandalf turned and raised a hand towards the shining peak of the mountains above them and Amera blinked in pain as the reflection off the snow momentarily blinded her. "Caradhras will offer us the safety we need."

The Fellowship was silent for a moment in disbelief, each staring at the cliffs that towered into the sky. "Come along, then!" Gandalf snapped, giving Amera's shin a gentle rap with his staff, "No need to stare at it with those wide eyes of yours! You'll be able to view it up close soon enough!" He chuckled at this and began to walk up the hill, which was steadily increasing in its inclination.

Amera sighed deeply, as did the majority of the Company, as they prepared themselves to continue onwards. Slinging her pack over her shoulder and mourning the brief duration of her nap, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and perked a brow as Boromir stood before, raising a hand towards her hand and quietly stating, "Don't move for a moment."

She eyed him strangely as his fingers brushed through her hair with extraordinary gentleness and blushed in embarrassment as he retrieved a surprisingly large twig from her tangled curls. Doing his best to hide one of his rare smiles, he faintly smirked and held up the stick for her to examine, "Shall I leave this with you or Legolas, then?"

Amera rolled her eyes and smacked it from his hand, brushing her robes off as she lamely retorted, "Such a gentleman," and strode off after Gandalf.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has subscribed and reviewed **_**Aeliniel **_**thus far! I sincerely hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it so far! I absolutely love getting reviews and feedback, so I can't encourage you all enough to feel free to review and let me know what you think, what you care to guess might happen and any criticism you might care to throw my way! If you'd prefer to send a private message, I'd love to respond to anything. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to the next, which should be posted by Saturday evening.**

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Boromir grumbled under his breath as he pulled his cloak tightly around his broad shoulders, shivering as he called out, "Amera?" Upon hearing nothing but silence, he sighed deeply and continued onwards with his search. Gandalf had tasked him with finding her before nightfall, which he noted glumly, was fast approaching.

Brushing the arm of a pine tree aside, he realized that today was surely the last day they would encounter any sort of wildlife, for the gleaming peak of Caradhras loomed ever closer above them, promising an abundance of snow and freezing wind. Greatly disheartened by the thought, he called out for Amera yet again, cursing quietly when there was no reply. Where had she gone? There was nothing up this high in the mountains except for _pine trees_, by the Valar, and a good many of those indeed, he decided as he continued to smack away the troublesome branches.

He suddenly stumbled, blinking as his foot caught on something. He glanced down at his feet, his eyes widening in horror, as Amera's vest was caught on the edge of his boot. He instantly drew his sword and crouched close to the ground, scanning the trees ahead for any sign of her and sure enough, he was able to spy her boots tilted beneath a tree. Doing his best to ignore the horrible situations that now flooded his mind, he bit his lip and continued onwards, quietly calling out for her as his fingers gripped the hilt of his longsword with greater determination.

Following the articles of clothing that had been scattered about hurriedly, he was stunned to come across a small clearing nestled against a tall cliff face, from which a beautiful waterfall, no doubt made from the melting snow, poured into a pool at its base. While the glade was a welcome change from the rocks and dry ground he had seen far too much of over the past month, Amera was still nowhere to be found. And, judging by the leggings he spied beside the rocky outcrop next to the pool, she was certainly wearing very little indeed. He hissed her name once again, still keeping low to the ground as he moved behind a tree, pausing to think of a plan as the glade remained silent.

There was not enough time to return to camp and fetch the others, he decided, as he kept his breath quiet and listened intently for any noise. No, he needed to find Amera _now._

He froze as a strange noise filled the glade and after a moment, he recognized it as rippling water, the sound of that the Anduin had made when the wind stirred its water, creating small waves that lapped against the crumbling walls of Osgiliath. He slowly tilted his head, glancing around the trunk of the tree cautiously. And, upon discovering the source of the noise, his jaw dropped in utter surprise.

Amera slowly rose from the water, her luminous hair reflecting the sunset as it streamed over her shoulders and along the sharp arches of her shoulder blades. His mind wandered to when she had first revealed but a sliver of her wounds at the Council, what seemed like so very long ago, as his eyes traveled the length of each of her scars, red and rough against her skin. She slowly turned, her eyes closed in utter peace, and gently began to walk from the water, more and more of her body revealed with each step. Boromir watched, transfixed, as the Aeliniel rose once more from water, as once she had before Amlaith on the white shores of Evendim. Her body was pale as bone against her dark hair, now flowing straight over her shoulders as water slid down her slender figure. Her face glowed with a serene contentment as she rejoiced in her element, positively joyous in her silence as she rose from the pool. Once, the woman before him had vowed to ever aid the men of Gondor, his ancestors, and here she stood before him in her true form, as feral and untamed as she had been two thousand years ago. He stared at her not out of desire, but out of curiosity, mingled with both hope and caution.

His weight shifted and a resounding _crack _echoed throughout the clearing, shattering the silence. Amera froze, her eyes widening as she spotted the source of the noise and met Boromir's. Boromir suddenly realized just how exactly he looked, crouched down and partially hidden behind a tree and he instantly stood up in horror, but fell over as his head neatly collided with a thick branch. Amera nearly tripped as she stumbled backwards and did her best to cover the majority of her body with carefully placed limbs and hands, her eyes blazing with rage as she roared, "_What do you think you're doing?"_

Boromir groaned and sat up, rubbing his aching head as he blinked away the stars that danced on the edges of his vision and turned to answer her, but was greeted with shrieks and swiftly turned his back to her, his face burning as he stammered out repeated apologies. Practically in shock, he overheard distinctly inelegant splashing noises as Amera rushed forth, no doubt to hurriedly retrieve her clothes.

Still, her could not help but be impressed by the creative combinations of expletives that angrily sprung from her, her typically soft, lilting voice full of embarrassment and fury. He heard a small shriek and turned around instinctively to see Amera fall backwards, losing her balance as she struggled to quickly slip on her last boot. He cautiously walked towards her, wincing as his fingers traced over the large bruise forming on the top of his head, sheepishly offering a hand to a glowering Amera, her wet head plastered to the sides of her neck and thin shoulders.

Amera snarled, glaring at his outstretched hand, "What were you doing?"

"Gandalf sent me to find you." Boromir awkwardly replied, slowly returning his hand to his side.

Narrowing her eyes, she rose to her feet and brushed herself off, flicking her hair away from her face as she glared, "So you decided it would be best to announce your presence _after _I was clothed?"

Boromir, profoundly humiliated at this point, replied, "I saw your clothes strewn about and assumed something had happened, so I decided stealth would be the best option."

Amera snorted at this. "And your stealth happened to lead you behind a tree, conveniently placed directly in front of the water in which I bathed?"

His face burned as he shook his head, "No, I…I simply was surprised, I had not expected you to be bathing." Amera appeared unconvinced and he sighed, his shoulders falling. "I swear to you, Amera, I am no scoundrel. It was never my intention to interrupt you in such an…" He faltered, "_Intimate _situation."

Amera crossed her arms over her chest, glancing him up and down slowly for a long moment skeptically, before finally sighing deeply. He shifted his weight as he waited for a response, which came in the form of Amera narrowing her eyes at him and suddenly jutting a figure towards his chest, "We are going to pretend that this never happened, do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely."

Amera gave a curt nod and smoothed out her tunic, adjusting the laces of her vest before swiftly turning on her heels in the direction of the camp. Boromir followed silently behind her, not daring to mutter a word as he reached once more to cautiously feel the growing bruise on his scalp. They trekked onwards through the seemingly random placed pine trees scattered throughout the hilltops, slowly swaying in the breeze as Amera angrily smacked aside anything that stood in her way. Finally, just as the dying sun set behind the white, shining peaks of the mountains and the camp came into view, Amera turned around swiftly and suddenly enough that Boromir nearly bumped into her, holding up a hand and stated once more, as if a warning, "And this little encounter is to never be mentioned of again, yes?"

He gave a small nod and, looking contented, they continued forwards and once more rejoined the curious members of the Fellowship.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_"How could you fail me, my son?"_

_ "Father, I swear to you, I-"_

_ "How could you fail your brother? How could you fail your city?"_

_ "I did all in my power, Father, I-"_

_ "How could you fail your __**people**_, _Boromir?"_

Boromir sat up with a start, his chest heaving as he desperately breathed in the cool night air, his hands trembling with the intensity of his nightmare as he quickly wiped the sweat from his brow. Taking one calm, slow breath, he glanced at the sleeping figures strewn about him, their faces flickering by the dying embers of the once-roaring fire. It was cold now, especially at night when the wind swept down from the mountains to chill those who dared traverse their cliffs and paths, the occasional snow shower dusting their cloaks with a fine, gentle powder. Now, fully awake from the chill, refreshing air that calmed his spirits, he glanced over the rest of the Company, giving a gentle sigh of relief as all four hobbits slumbered peacefully.

He could not help but smile softly as he noticed how close the halflings huddled together, grouped in a small semi-circle as if to protect Frodo, even in their dreams. And draped upon Frodo, he noticed after a moment, was Amera's cloak, which he clutched tightly as he shifted in his sleep, pulling it closer around his body for the extra warmth against the chill of Caradhras. He slowly rose, running a hand through his hair as he examined the small group, sighing when he noticed a distinct lack of a resting Amera.

He stifled a yawn and stretched slightly, stopping when he noticed the small figure sitting on the outskirts of the camp on a small ledge nestled against the mountainside, staring out into the night and the rocky valleys below. He remained still as he watched her, taking note of her tired shoulders, normally tall and proud, and the weariness that covered her ageless features. She turned to him and met his gaze, beckoning him closer with a hand after a moment.

He quietly strode forward, careful not to wake the rest of the slumbering party as he murmured, "Forgive me, I meant not to intrude."

Amera smiled faintly at this, motioning for him to join her before wrapping her arms around her slender shoulders as she drew her knees to her chest, whispering in reply, "You've already intruded upon me naked, Boromir, for this you need not apologize."

He was silent as he sat, lowering his eyes in shame. Amera took notice of this and gently rested her hand on his shoulder after a moment, her voice as soft as the moonlight that fell upon them. "I jest, friend, and I am sorry for my reaction earlier. I was…well, I was surprised to say the least. You meant no harm and as such none is taken."

"You should be resting, Amera, the road before us is not easy."

She shrugged and removed her hand, turning her gaze once more to the valley below, "I am alright, I am just enjoying the view."

He glanced at her skeptically, unconvinced. "You value stars and snow over sleep after weeks of travel."

She paused, then lamely replied, "I doubt I would be graced with any slumber," She nodded over her shoulder, "By the volume that Gimli makes with each snore."

"You rarely sleep, Amera," Boromir continued after a moment, taking notice of the occasional shiver she tried to suppress, "You need not use such excuses. I've often seen you lie awake after the rest are dreaming." He lowered his voice, "What is it that plagues you of such comfort?"

Amera's face revealed no emotion as she stared straight ahead into the night, her voice now a whisper. "I dream."

"Of what?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself before replying, "Of my past, of Annuminas and of faces long lost to history and lore."

He was quiet for a long moment as he watched her, then removed his cloak awkwardly and placed it over her shoulders. She flinched at the touch of his hands, as if unused to contact, but the gentle gratitude in her eyes revealed her thanks. After another pause, he murmured, "And that troubles you?"

She smiled faintly, her eyes distant as she no doubt recalled some memory. "It brings back pain I am hesitant to embrace." Amera then turned to face him, her eyes flickering as the moonlight fell upon them. "You remind me of him, you know."

"Who?"

"Mardil Voronwe."

Boromir blinked at this, slowly replying in disbelief and curiosity, "You met my ancestor?"

She nodded as if it was obvious, a genuine smile dancing around her lips. "Indeed and you do bare some resemblance to him, but your eyes are different." She paused, choosing her words carefully as she met his gaze. "His eyes were so very pale, filled with wisdom and age, while your own shine bright with the flames of pride and strength."

Boromir was silent at this and Amera looked down at her lap after a moment, drawing his cloak tightly around her shoulders as she whispered. "Tell me of Minas Tirith."

He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath of contentment as his beloved city was built before him in his mind's eye, "It is so very fair, but as tall and proud as the mount from which it was carved, gleaming across the plains of Pelennor as a symbol of the strength of the men of Gondor, of the pride of the West. In the morning, when the sun first rises, the marble courtyards are filled with the gentle flames that appear on the horizon, welcoming each new day and upon its setting, the gardens gleam under the moonlight." He sighed deeply, a gentle smile appearing across his rugged features as he whispered, "And in the summer, the rain gently falls against the stone roofs and leaves all in its path so fresh, as if renewed, and the distant roar of thunder over the mountains can only be heard when one strains to listen, a quiet greeting as the raindrops dance against the stone."

He paused, opening his eyes in embarrassment as Amera was silent, realizing the emotion that had helpless poured into his words had no doubt made her uncomfortable as he had prattled on. Opening his mouth to apologize, he stopped as he took notice of her, a single tear rolling down her pale cheek from her closed eyes, the moonlight illuminating it with a soft glow as her eyelids trembled ever so slightly, like the wings of a butterfly.

A moment passed as he watched her, then finally murmured. "I am sorry, Amera."

She turned to him, opening her flickering eyes as she slowly whispered, "For what?"

"For treating you with such distance since the Council."

She was quiet, a small, bittersweet smile appearing in the corners of her mouth as she softly replied, "You need not apologize, friend. I am used to such."

Another pause. "Were some unkind to you, Amera?"

She closed her eyes once more, drawing a breath before turning once more to meet his eyes, her voice filled with gentle, pained honesty. "Men fear what they do not understand."

She was so different from the creature he had seen earlier, so profoundly feral, so ancient and all at once inhuman in her perfection as she had risen from the element of her birth. Now, as he watched her deep eyes fill with repressed pain, her tear clinging to the angle of her cheekbone before gently tracing a path down her features, she seemed fragile, so young but filled with the weary of a hundred lifetimes.

Finally, he spoke, "My mother used to tell stories of you to my brother and I." She smiled gently at this and he continued, lowering his head as he laughed quietly, continuing with obvious fondness, "He used to be so frightened by the thunderstorms that gathered on the plains that he would cower beside me and refuse to leave. My mother would lull him to sleep with tales of the Aeliniel," He brushed his hair from his hands carelessly, looking out into the night as he continued, "Of her bravery at Fornost, of her promise to Amlaith so many years ago. And," he laughed softly once more, "Once he slumbered, I would carry him back to his own room, only to be greeted by him the very next morning."

"You must miss them both greatly."

He shrugged, his smile fading as he murmured, his eyes distant. "My mother died when I was young, but Faramir, Faramir is a good man," Pride slowly crept its way into his voice, his chin lifting as he claimed, "He's quieter than myself, certainly, but a strong captain of Gondor. Every time I look at him, "I see a glimpse of the younger brother who idolized all that I did, who so looked to me after the death of my mother," His voice grew very soft, almost lost as a gentle breeze stirred his auburn hair. "I find myself filled with such pride as I look upon the man he's become."

Amera smiled softly and he suddenly turned to her, recognizing the veiled envy in her eyes, mixed with deep sadness. He watched her for a long moment and she tilted her head slightly, her dark hair falling against his cloak as he simply asked, "Why did you choose this life, Amera?"

A moment passed and a faint smile appeared upon her lips, bittersweet, and he found himself staring into her flickering eyes as she gently replied. "I did not choose it, Boromir, it was given unto me."


	13. Chapter Twelve

The Fellowship ascended higher into the mountain pass, leaving behind the rocky hills and rough brush of Eregion behind for the icy, crystalline winds of Caradhras. The sun so brightly reflected off the snow that Amera found herself perpetually squinted as they traveled, pulling her cloak tighter and tighter around her shoulders as the occasional puff of breath appeared from under her cowl. It rarely snowed in Annuminas and she had been quite entertained at first by the snowflakes, sticking out her tongue to catch the occasional lazy flake, but immediately stopped once Aragorn sent a curious look in her direction. But, as they had traveled higher and higher, the wind had become more shrill, a screeching cry instead of the occasional murmur it once had been. The snow drifts had transformed from a source of amusement to a source of profound annoyance as it had risen above her boots and melted between her toes, dampening and blistering her aching feet with each step. Her eyes, which had once tingled rather unpleasantly, now burned as the sun beamed brightly off the glittering mounds. Though she would never admit it, or even allude to it, Amera was miserable.

They had slowed for a minute or two after Frodo had slipped, Boromir and Aragorn having some quick conversation that had ended with a light ruffling of Frodo's hair, but the rest of the day had been nothing but silent trudging, each member of the group too cold and too uncomfortable to even attempt conversation as they journeyed onwards. However, Amera noted darkly, Legolas seemed to be the exception as his boots fell gently against the snow without leaving so much as an indentation, his bright eyes gleaming as he led the way for the rest. To pass the time, she silently entertained herself with imagining the various ways she could push Legolas into the snow, deciding after a good bit of mental deliberation that Gandalf's staff would be a far superior form of surprise, sweeping his legs out from under him with a quick swipe than a good, old-fashioned bash from Boromir's shield. She had even considering sharing her ideas with a miserable Pippin, who she noticed cast equally annoyed glances towards the elven prince, but decided that perhaps such thoughts would be best kept to herself.

Once the sun had finally set, they set up camp for the night and Amera attempted to light a small fire after clearing a little patch of ground, much to the delight of the hobbits, but slumped as a swift gust of wind immediately extinguished it and sighed. So, after a scarce dinner consisting of an odd assortment of their remaining supplies, the Fellowship sat in silence, staring glumly at the black lump that should have been a roaring fire with the exception of Gandalf, who leaned against the cliff wall and smoked, eyeing the pass before them. Gimli took this chance to remind the group, in his truly subtle fashion, that Moria remained as an option. He coughed loudly and raised his voice, shifting his head towards the wizard, that instead of freezing winds and snow, they would be greeted with roaring fires and soft beds upon visiting his cousin. Sighing at the thought, Gimli continued to speak of the great wonders of the dwarven kingdom and Amera quickly transformed a laugh into a cough as she her gaze fell upon Boromir, who poorly concealed his annoyance with a set jaw and roll of his eyes.

It was either her exhaustion from the day's journey or the near mythical monotony of Gimli's repeated praises of Moria, but Amera soon find her eyes growing heavy as she shivered and curled up against the freezing ground. She tossed and turned for what seemed like ages, unable to find any warmth in her aching limbs as she pulled them close to her body and rose with a sigh, glancing over her sleeping companions. After debating for a few moments with herself as to whether such would be proper, she decided that propriety could be damned with weather such as this and tiptoed over to Merry and Pippin, giving each a quick dig with her foot.

Pippin groaned and opened one eye lazily, while Merry simply mumbled and rolled over. After a momentary pause, Pippin rubbed his eyes and whispered, "Is everything alright then, Amera?"

She nodded and shivered once more, "Move over."

"….What?"

"Move over."

Pippin eyed her strangely, but shifted enough to create a bit of distance between himself and the sleeping Meriadoc and raised both brows as Amera immediately laid down and curled up between them, seemingly unbothered. Shrugging, he rested once more and was surprised by the coolness she radiated, as opened to the welcome heat Merry's small form produced. Closing his eyes and attempting once more to sleep, he heard a voice quickly whisper, "Thank you, Pippin."

"You're welcome, Amera."

OOOOOOOOOO

Amera lowered her head, wrapping her cowl tightly around the lower half of her face as the wind cut into her like a knife, each gust settling into her bones and seemed to weigh down her every step, as if a drenched blanket had been heaped upon her shoulders. The snowflakes, which she bitterly recalled had once amused her, now stung her face and eyes, cutting into what little skin was revealed mercilessly. She had lost all sense of time as they had trekked on, all of her energy focused on the task of moving one foot after another through the snow that reached her waist, plowing onwards through the small path that Gandalf had pushed aside at the front of the line. Her mind had become as numb as her extremities, any and all thoughts abandoned as her body reserved its energies for the most basic of tasks as the pass grew more and more treacherous.

The snow fell so swiftly now that she could make out little ahead of her but the rough outlines of Boromir and Aragorn, who each carried a set of hobbits in their arms, and Gandalf's hat. Suddenly, a loud crack split the air and she drew her sword instinctively, gasping as Aragorn suddenly shoved her backwards. Her eyes widened as an enormous mound of snow fell where she had been standing just a moment earlier and had it not been for his quick intervention, she had no doubt she would have been crushed. Trembling furiously, she slowly rose to her feet and gave Aragorn a slow nod of thanks, who replied with a quick tilt of his chin and picked up Sam and Frodo once more. Slowly sheathing her sword and doing her best to brush the loose snow from her leggings, she followed once more behind the heir of Elendil.

The going was so incredibly snow that in her exhaustion Amera sometimes wondered if they were moving at all, for they would often be required to stop, dodging the drifts that threatened to crush any that stood in their way as they suddenly fell from the cliffs above. From the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas move swiftly to the front of the group, peering through the blazing snow into the dark peaks that lay beyond the edge of the path. She heard Gandalf yell something, but his words were swiftly taken by the wind and lost to her, but she gasped once more as snow fell once descended upon the group, clinging fiercely to the rocky wall with numb fingers as she turned buried her face into her shoulder. She winced as a jagged chunk of ice bounced against her shoulder, but otherwise remained unscathed and began to cough, her body shaking intensely. She felt a sudden warmth beneath her cowl and put a hand to her face, trembling as she pulled it away to reveal spots of crimson. However, after the momentary panic, Amera realized that it was simply blood from her immensely cracked lips and sighed deeply, relieved. Ahead of her, Aragorn paused and yelled, raising his voice above the roaring winds, "Gandalf, we must get off the mountain!"

Amera, who noticed how terrifying pale the hobbits looked in his arms, knew that it was so, but was silent as Gandalf paused, looking over his shoulder for a moment before raising his staff. He bellowed into the white mass of ice that swirled before him, deep, rumbling words filled with power and age that sent shivers down her spine as they reached her ears; ancient words filled with meaning long lost to the ages. He was battling with something, she understood, her mind slow in its exhaustion as she strained to fight the desire to sleep, her eyelids so terribly heavy that each blink was a small victory in itself.

And then, before she knew what had happened, the world briefly flashed such a pure white that her eyes burned, so she closed them and gave into her exhaustion, a faint smile appearing on her face as she was suddenly blanketed from all around, her aching limbs swathed in such coolness that it stole her breath away. Her lungs wept for oxygen as the snow wrapped its icy mantle around her and she decided she was sinking, yes, she was slowly falling once more into the gentle water of Evendim. The shining towers of Annuminas glittered above her, hazy as the water swirled around her bare toes and fingers, rushing through her and completing her in one sudden gasp. She slowly sank, her hair pooling over her shoulders and trailing slowly around her face as she fell lower and lower in the lake of her birth. It was gentle and kind and beautiful, the creation of fire and ice, and she wanted to cry with joy at their reunion these many years later. As she gave in, once final thought echoed through her mind.

She was home.

But, it was not to be, for suddenly she felt a rough hand grab her collar, choking her as it tried to force her once more the surface. She tried to scream but all at once the water poured into her lungs and she struggled fiercely, her limbs forgetting their aches in her panic. Amera gasped as her head cleared the surface of the snow, instantly awake as the freezing air poured into her blazing lungs and she blinked away the darkness that had crept onto the edges of her vision. She shook away the visions of Evendim as she focused on the present, shaking fiercely as she looked up into the crystalline eyes of Legolas, who gently brushed away a stream of blood from her ravaged lips, offering a small nod as she coughed a brief 'thank you'.

She could hear the voices of her companions ahead of her, but could not comprehend them as she stared out into the frozen tundra, her dark hair streaming about her face as the wind took hold of it, tearing it from its place beneath her hood. However, she was just able to make out Frodo's quiet voice above the roar of Caradhras, nearly collapsing in relief as Gandalf slowly nodded in response.

They were to go through the Mines of Moria.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

"Absolutely not."

"Amera…"

"It looks, and smells, _vile_."

Aragorn sighed, rolling his eyes as Amera eyed the poultice suspiciously, her lower lip curling in disgust as she examined it further. "Amera," He once more held out the thick paste to her, delicately balanced on a leaf, "You should well know how deceptive appearances can be. If you wish your lips to heal, this will greatly hasten the process."

Her shoulders slumped as she tentatively ran her tongue over her ravaged lips, wincing fiercely as she momentarily trembled. She sighed and Aragorn resisted a small smile as he watched her put her pride aside, her hand reaching forth to cautiously take the poultice from him. She held it close to her face and cringed, asking, "And what exactly is this made of, Aragorn?"

He shrugged, "The earth has many resources, should one choose to search for them."

Amera stared at him blankly, intoning, "And with that, I shall not inquire further." She slowly scooped the paste with the tip of her finger, scrunching her face almost comically as she hesitantly spread it across her lips. At this point, Gimli happened to glance over in her direction, pausing briefly before doubling over with loud guffaws at her ridiculous appearance. The paste, though certainly useful, nonetheless tinted her lips an unpleasant, thick shade of green. However, his laughter was quickly silenced by the vicious glare he received in turn and he coughed loudly, brushing his beard with a stray hand as he continued along the cliff walls, leading the Fellowship onward towards Moria.

Amera sighed as the poultice cooled her aching lips, her eyes dreamy at the long awaited relief. The rest of the Fellowship had returned from Caradhras aching, freezing and profoundly miserable, but nonetheless unscathed, with the exception of Amera's mouth. Rendered practically unable to speak, lest she draw blood from the cracks, she had silently trekked behind the rest of Fellowship, though Merry and Pippin had certainly done their best to cheer her up as they regaled her with the songs that filled the inns of the Shire, sung merrily around ale-stained tables heaped with rich food straight from the fields of Tuckborough and Bywater. Though she would not risk a smile, her pale eyes revealed her gratitude as she winked at them both.

The going was much faster than the Pass, she noted with relief, as they practically ran across the rocky terrain, keeping close to the cliff walls that leered above them, as enormous as they were unwelcoming. The hills surrounding Annuminas were certainly rocky, their slopes and tips dotted with the ruins; pillars and crumbling walls laced with ivy and greenery as nature had crept in over the ages. These cliffs, utterly blank in their sheer enormity, intimidated Amera as she ran a hand absently along the side as she walked, her fingers brushing slowly against the cold stone.

She rolled her eyes as she overheard a decidedly smart remark from Legolas up ahead, hoping she would not have to listen to yet another miniature argument between the elf and Gimli. While the two had certainly never been close, they had tolerated each other well enough until recently, when each had begun to ho out of their way to take subtle jabs at the culture of the other. Of course, none of this happened within earshot of Gandalf, but was more than enough to try the steadily thinning patience of the rest of the Fellowship.

The day continued unremarkably, though she happily noted that the constant pain in her lips greatly diminished as Aragorn's poultice hastened their recovery and by the time the sun had set, she was once more able to communicate without hesitation and accompanied wincing, though smiling was remained just out of reach. As they grew ever closer to reaching the walls of Moria, which stood proudly ahead of them, she was able to spy what appeared to be the remnants of a broken bridge far above their heads through the flickering moonlight, proud and strong even in its age. She smiled inwardly at this, hoping that, perhaps, Moria might remind her of Annuminas with its noble architecture. She had read of the mastery of dwarven craft long ago in the dusty, silent library of her home and had seen pictures inscribed in the ancient tomes of their fierce armor and weaponry, but had never the chance to truly experience anything of their proud culture. Still, she carefully attempted a small smile, if Moria was a quarter of the wonder Gimli regaled it to be, she would no doubt have her breath taken from at the sight of its sweeping halls and pillars.

They cautiously kept to the bank alongside the cliffs, rounding a large pond that had curiously appeared as the moonlight shone down upon it through the thick clouds in the night sky, a small breeze created small ripples that lapped against the pebbles that slipped beneath their boots as they walked. The occasional lazy tree dotted the bank, along with shrubs, and Amera silently decided that if this was a dwarven attempt at a garden, that they should certainly focus their attentions on creations of stone and ore.

Gandalf suddenly stopped, laughing proudly to himself as he turned and gestured towards a blank wall just ahead of them. "And here we are!"

Amera blinked as the group grew silent, watching in confusion as Gandalf muttered to himself, slowly moving a hand along the stone, as if searching for something. She lowered her voice and muttered from the corner of her mouth to Pippin, "I see nothing."

The wizard snorted at this, rolling his eyes before calling out to her, "If you will give me but a minute, my dear Aeliniel, then you shall understand."

Amera blushed at this, amazed that Gandalf could overhear her, but shrugged as she recalled that it was _Gandalf_, after all, and with what little experience she had with wizards of the course of her life, she knew that they could often guess your thoughts before even a word could be uttered. And, sure enough, she let out a small gasp of awe as the cloud masking the moon was ushered away by the night wind and moonlight and starlight gently fell down upon the door, slowly filling in an almost undetectable ridge in the wall, as if water. The light slowly swept over the door, revealing the images of two trees wrapped entwined around two pillars, runes glowing gently above seven stars and a crown.

"It reads," Gandalf raised his staff to demonstrate each word, "The Doors of Durin! Speak, friend, and enter!"

"And what do you suppose that means?" Merry questioned curiously.

"Why it's simple!" Gandalf quietly laughing, stroking his beard in contentment, "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He then set the tip of his staff gently against the image of a star, which shimmered lazily as the wizard proclaimed loudly in Sindarin.

Nothing happened.

Gandalf took a step back, squinting as he mumbled incoherently to himself, and Amera was suddenly filled with dread as she realized that Gandalf had not expected this. However, he quickly regained his composure and raised his arms, slipping once more into the tongue of the elves, "Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to my tongue!" And, as nothing happened once more, Amera suppressed a small groan of despair.

This continued for several minutes, Gandalf growing steadily more frustrated with each attempt and eventually snapped out at an ever curious Pippin, who quickly retreated to the bank to throw rocks to escape the ire of the confused leader of their Company. Amera rested her bank against the tree trunk, stifling a yawn as she lazily starred out at the dark water before them and dreamt of the soft beds Gimli had promised them. Aragorn comforted a tearful Sam, who watched his beloved pony leave in heartbreak, while the incessant splashing that composed Merry and Pippin's amusement tried her thin patience. Sighing, she ran a hand through her filthy hair, grimacing as her fingers began entangled in her curls, but paused as she noticed Boromir from the corner of her eye.

He sat alone on the bank, his features distant as he stared out across the murky water and into the dark mountains that loomed overheard, their peaks glistening white beneath the moonlight. While she had come to understand his solitude as simply part of his nature, he nonetheless seemed troubled as Merry had inquired something of him, withholding the bright smile had always had for the hobbits he so clearly had come to adore during the journey, instead grumbling a reply without so much as turning his gaze.

She picked up a small pebble and after a brief aiming, lightly tossed it towards him. A small clink could be heard as it bounced off his wide shield and he raised his head, raising a brow in her direction as she brushed her leggings off and moved beside him. Tilting her head slightly, as if to get a better look, Amera softly attempted conversation, "I should think the few guests that the dwarves receive oft return home in anger after such greeting as this door." He grunted in reply and her small smile faded as she looked at him, her stormy eyes filled with concern as she lowered her voice, gently questioning, "What troubles you, Boromir?"

"I am merely tired, Amera." His tone was short in his annoyance.

She snorted at this, flicking a small lock of hair behind her ears, "You have been tired for weeks now, friend, we all have been on the brink of exhaustion, yet now you distance yourself from us." She sighed, gently resting a hand against his broad shoulder. "What ails you?"

He ran a hand through his auburn hair as he turned to reply, his green eyes illuminated in the moonlight, but was interrupted as Amera swiftly turned her head, staring with wide eyes at the water. "Did you just see that?" She whispered, her eyes still focused on the murky pool.

Boromir gave her a strange look, but shook his head and slowly answered as he watched her, "I saw nothing…."

"I-I swear to you the water just rippled."

"Yes, water does tend to do that when the breeze picks up."

She turned briefly to glare, then returned her attention to the water as she slowly rose, "I'm not an idiot, Boromir, but it looked like something _moved _beneath the surface."

"Yes, perhaps it's those magical creatures of lore, what are they called?" Gimli suddenly spoke up from beside her, stroking his beard as he did his best to hide a bemused grin. "Ah, yes, _fish_."

Amera did not reply to this, so Gimli continued, laughing, "And are you not of water yourself, lass? Perhaps you'd care to take a quick swim and inform us of what you find?"

She recoiled at his suggestion, curling her lip. "Evendim is _nothing_ like this disgusting excuse for a pond. Do not insult me by even comparing the two. I would dare not touch this water, much less enter it."

The group turned as the sudden sound of scraping could be heard and much to their surprise, the doorway to Moria finally swung back, revealing absolute darkness. Amera glanced cautiously over her shoulder once more and shook her head slightly as the water remained motionless, following closely behind Gandalf as they entered the mines, the moonlight lighting the path before them. Amera froze and gagged openly as a foul stench hit her like a wall once she stepped beneath the doorway, raising her arm to bury her face in her elbow as she coughed. The air was horrifyingly stale and she cringed as it further assaulted her scenes, recognizing the odor but unable to place it as she stumbled behind the others. She narrowed her eyes as they adjusted to the poor lighting and saw grand, carved stairs just ahead of them, but glanced about as she saw no other signs of inhabitance. The chamber itself was eerily silent save for the scraping of boots against the stone floor as they continued forward, Gimli's boisterous voice leading the way.

Amera heard a resounding _crack_ and she nearly slipped as something gave way beneath her feet. Awkwardly lurching out a hand and grabbing ahold of Legolas' shoulder as she righted herself, she tilted her head as she struggled to make out whatever exactly she had just broken, squinting as she gave it a tentative push into the moonlight with the tip of her boot. She immediately froze, tasting the sour bile rise in the back of her mouth as a cracked skull, complete with the remnants of a once proud beard, grinned up at her. Her eyes widened as she trembled, staring down in utter disbelief as she whispered, "Gandalf…"

"This is no mine, it is a tomb." Boromir's voice rang through the chamber as he too came to the horrible conclusion Amera had just reached, each member of the company immediately recoiling as the bodies of the fallen were now recognizable in the moonlight. Legolas hissed from beside her, "Goblins," as he retrieved an arrow from the body of a dwarf, throwing it down in disgust. Amera drew her sword, instantly readying herself as she swallowed her fear and prepared for whatever could appear in the looming darkness before them. Gimli sobbed openly as he fell beside the remnants of his kin, his howls of fury echoing through the halls as she slowly stepped backward.

"We should never have come here!" Boromir roared from beside her, but before he could continue, Frodo suddenly cried out. Whirling around, Amera blinked as she could not find him, then momentarily froze as a long, serpentine arm rose from the murky pool, lashing out at the hobbits as they hacked the tentacle that had wrapped its way around Frodo's ankle, dragging him closer to the water. She was momentarily stunned, her pale eyes widening before she came to her sense, rushing forward and slicing her sword towards a tentacle, but was staggered off balance as suddenly multiple arms shot out from the water. She cried out as she tumbled backwards into the foul water, slashing out wildly as one cracked against her body. A strong hand grabbed her collar, pulling her upright as she hurriedly dragged her nails across her face, pulling her soaked curls roughly away from her eyes as yet another tentacle suddenly lashed out at her. She turned swiftly, narrowly dodging the blow as she cried out and brought her sword down with fury, feeling the thick rubber of its flesh give away beneath the elven steel as it was severed.

The creature suddenly shrieked in pain and fury, as its head suddenly emerged from the water. Its dull, heavily lidded eyes rolled in agony as the Fellowship attacked mercilessly, enormous fangs dripping with water and saliva gnashed as Frodo dangled above, crying out in fear. Amera roared, adrenaline coursing through her body as it recalled the motions of battle, the leather of her blade as familiar as a lover as the moonlight shone down upon it, illuminating its lethal dance. It flashed as she struck out at anything that moved in the water, her mind blank as she fought with all the energy she could muster. And beneath the adrenaline, though she did not realize it, lay anger, for she was born of water and no water should be polluted with such filth as this creature.

She could hear someone call her voice but it was but a whisper and she ignored as she continued to slash wildly but precisely, her arms aching as her blade resisted the thick flesh of the creature with each attack. The voice echoed once more, louder this time, then it suddenly roared in her ear as she was pulled backwards towards the doors of Moria and she momentarily resisted, then blinked as she regained her senses as Aragorn cried out, "Amera! Hurry!"

She scrambled behind him, sprinting as the creature pulled itself onto the bank and shrieked yet again. Its tentacles latched on to the stones surrounding the door and she gasped as they began to tear lose and fall, closing her eyes and leaping forward in absolute desperation as they fell around her. And, just as her chest collided with the filthy, cold stone, the chamber was plunged into utter darkness.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Amera groaned quietly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air, her slender body shaking with adrenaline as the rush of battle slowly receded. She fumbled as she rose and struck out instinctively as she felt something brush her arm in the darkness, her senses honed as her sight was taken from her. Merry uttered a little yelp and winced, "I was only trying to help, Amera!" She blinked and took a deep breath, whispering a quick apology as she gathering her bearings. The sudden light from Gandalf's staff momentarily blinded her and she raised an arm to cover her eyes, blinking as her sight slowly adjusted. Sheathing her sword and brushing her soaked hair over the tips of her ears, she carefully examined the path before them, dread awakening within her as the empty sockets and broken smiles of the fallen leered at her, scattered over the floor and against the stone walls.

The Fellowship was silent as they stared ahead, until a quiet sigh from Gandalf broke the uneasy tension. "We now have but one choice," He brushed his robes off and stared at the dark road before them, "We must face the long dark of Moria." He glanced briefly over his shoulder, then slowly began his ascent up the stairs, "Be on your guard, there are older and fouler things in the darker places of this world than orcs."

Amera repressed a shudder and silently followed, her feet squishing uncomfortably in her soaked boots with each tentative step, doing her best to avoid the mangled corpses of both goblin and dwarf kind that lay scattered around her. She glanced towards Aragorn and stepped beside him, lowering her eyes as she whispered, "I should ask your apology, Aragorn, for my delay." She swallowed hard, "I-I know naught what came over me."

Aragorn turned to her, offering a faint smile as he rested his hand against her shoulder, "With time and practice, Amera, you will come to control your instincts, I assure you. Nonetheless, you fought as bravely as any of us."

She nodded slightly, relieved by his kindness as she pulled her cloak tightly over her shoulders, her fingers instinctively reaching down to remain near the daggers at her hips as she cautiously continued onwards into the darkness, casting a wary eyes towards the shadows that were partially illuminated by Gandalf's staff. After a few hours of silent trekking, she was surprised to find she had grown used to the stench of the mines, though she still greatly desired the sweet, coolness of fresh air. Occasionally, the path would grow treacherous and she would find herself resting a gentle hand on the hobbits, ensuring their security on the broken trails littered with fallen debris and corpses.

"Only four days," She whispered to herself as a skeletal arm hooked itself around her boots, causing her to flinch as she carefully kicked it aside, "Only four days…"

OOOOOOOOO

_The night air swirled her dark hair around her face and she tried to raise a hand to brush it away, but she was unable to move, frozen in place. The beautiful stars, which normally gleamed gently in the night sky, were obscured by the thick clouds of smoke that rose from the burning city, tendrils of darkness slowly rising to cloak the moonlight. She felt the familiar cool of marble tiles beneath her feet, but also felt the slow spread of the blood beneath them as the broken shards of stained glass cut into her, remnants of the beautiful windows that had adorned the towers and libraries of Annuminas._

_ She was at the highest point of the city, the courtyard outside the palace that looked downwards upon the proud gardens, armories and markets that now lie in smoking ruins. Rubble and filth polluted the streets as orcs and goblins shrieked with glee as they ransacked the city, receiving great pleasure in defacing the monuments to the great lords of Arnor and the West, dancing over the broken rubble that littered that streets. She wanted to cry out but could do nothing but watch as her city, her home, was ravaged. Enormous flames erupted from the library to the West as the ancient tomes were lost to fire, the secrets and histories of ages disappearing in but seconds. The trees that adorned the gardens, wise and towering in their age, were hacked and left to rot as the gentle pools of water were stained with filth and blood. She heard the earth weep, her spirit trembling as the cries reached her, filled with despair and grief as all was polluted and hope was lost. _

_ She was then released from her invisible bonds and fell to her knees, gasping and sobbing emptily as her heart broke at the sight of all she had loved and cherished so utterly broken. Her frail shoulders shook as her hair tumbled over them, her bloodied feet smearing the once glistening marble as she struggled to rise to her feet, but fell as her knees gave out and gasped as her face smashed against the courtyard. Barely breathing now, she opened her tired eyes to see a pair of iron boots before her, a dark, tattered cloak swirling around the figure above her. She coughed, blood staining her lips and teeth as she slowly looked up into the dark cowl of the Witch-King of Angmar, his empty hood adorned with the crown of Annuminas. _

_ She desperately tried once more to stand, but fell pitifully with a small sob as her body was unable to support itself. The wraith issued a cold, dark laugh as it watched her struggle, reveling in her misery before wrapped an icy, gauntleted hand around her throat. She choked and fought back vainly as it lifted her into the air, turning her exhausted body to face the burning city once more. "All is lost, Aeliniel."_

_ Tears streamed down her face, leaving clear paths against the smoke and filth that covered her skin. She feebly tried to turn her head away, but groaned in pain as the wraith shook her, howling in a voice that stole what little strength remained in her exhausted spirit, "Look and see your failure."_

_ It strode forward and held her over the edge, drops of blood slowly slipping from her toes as they fell hundreds of feet through the smoky air before splattering against the rubble below. It roughly turned her, the rough steel of its gauntlets cutting into her pale neck as it stared into her, the black shadow beneath its hood stronger and fouler than ever before. It pulled her close, its hiss cutting through her like a blade as dread rolled off of it like fog, sinking into her and choking her all at once. "Your precious Men are defeated and your city burned, Aeliniel." It laughed as its grip tightened on her throat. She no longer struggled against the wraith, but simply hung her head in defeat as her body went limp. It watched her for a moment longer, then calmly spoke, "And so your duty is fulfilled."_

_ And she fell as the Witch-King released its hold on her._

Amera's eyes flew open as she gasped, her body soaked with sweat as her chest heaved violently. She sat up, her eyes wide with terror as she glanced around, her hands shaking wildly as she slowly ran them through her hair in an attempt to calm herself. Unable to erase the images of Annuminas that had been seared into her mind and flashed back with terrible accuracy each time she blinked, she quickly wet the edge of her cloak with water from her flask, wiping the sweat from her brow as she took a deep breath. Careful to remain as quiet as her beating heart would allow, she glanced at the sleeping figures that lay around her.

A small, faint smile crossed her lips as she noted the gentle rise and fall of Merry and Pippin's chests as they curled close to each other. Aragorn slept with a hand ever ready on his the hilt of his sword, while Gimli's raucous snores filled the otherwise silent chamber. Gandalf's pipe lay not far from his hand, while the other clutched his staff tightly as he too rested. Legolas lay utterly motionless, his shining hair falling over his shoulders, while Boromir slept with peacefully, his features free of care and worry as his auburn hair fell over his eyes. Sam, of course, lay but an arm's length from the restless Frodo, who tossed and turned uneasily in his dreams. He shifted slightly and she froze as the Ring slipped from beneath his shirt, glittering by the light of the dying embers of their small fire. Her gaze fell over it and she stared at that which had caused so much grief and pain over the course of its long existence now lay motionless on the chest of a halfling, no doubt yearning even now to return to the grasp of its dark master.

She had seen it before, certainly, in the course of their travels and the night in the Trollshaws, but had never truly examined it before. Amera tilted her head slightly as it flickered in the pale firelight, so very deceptive in its unassuming simplicity. There, just before her, lay the power and malice of Sauron, trapped in form as it destroyed and twisted all who bore it, whispering of glory and power as it lead its bearers to their doom, even those as mighty as Isildur so very, very long ago. Even now, she could feel the slender arm of a shadow creep into her spirit, whispering to her in a language long forgotten to time and lore, powerful words as old as herself. It was so profoundly unnatural, such an obscenity to the true, lasting power of earth, air, fire and ice. How could something so simple hold such _evil_?

Her hand slowly stretched out of its own accord, a slender finger slowly moving towards the Ring. It was her opposite, she decided somewhere in the back of her mind as her eyes flickered in the firelight, created from cruelty and the desire to dominate any and all, its sole purpose to aid Sauron in his mission of destruction. But she, she was born of fire and ice, of water, sworn to protect and preserve so that the hope of Men might linger on when all hope had failed. Surely the Ring would be safer in her hands than in Frodo, who was already so burdened by a weight no hobbit should have to endure, surely he would understand Amera's kindness if she were to aid him…

She instantly recoiled as she realized what she was doing, trembling furiously as she stared in profound horror at the Ring, which slowly disappeared beneath the folds of Frodo's shirt as he shifted once more in his sleep, rolling over on his side so his face was hidden from her. She took slow, deep breaths as the shadow slowly passed from her, closing her eyes as she searched deep within herself, horrified as she realized the influence the Ring had claimed over her, even as she had let her guard down for only a minute. Amera slowly calmed herself and gently placed a small kiss against Frodo's forehead in apology and retreated to her rest, which was uneasy and plagued with visions of flame and shadow.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"No, thank you, Legolas."

"You have not eaten today."

Pippin glanced over his shoulder as Legolas once more offered Amera the small bowl of a less than delicious stew Sam had created with the remnants of their supplies for lunch. She raised a hand and offered a faint smile, "I am not hungry, though I thank you once more."

"You did not eat yesterday, either."

Amera immediately lost her smile, he noticed as he tried to hide his own as he watched her eye Legolas in annoyance, though the elven prince certainly took no notice of her reaction. She replied curtly, clearly annoyed as she dismissed his statement. "And I was not hungry yesterday, either."

Legolas clearly did not find this a suitable answer, questioning further, "And what robs you of your appetite, Amera?"

Amera sighed loudly, tilting her head up at him as her curt voice dripped with sarcasm, "Perhaps it could be the absolute lack of sunlight, fresh air or anything vaguely resembling nature in the past two days, or the very fact that we're trapped in a mine filled with thousands of rotting corpses and who knows what else."

Boromir choked as he overheard this, raising a calloused hand to his mouth as he swallowed a laugh. Legolas, who did not appear offended, simply nodded and stated, "It will be here when you are ready."

Amera rolled her eyes and returned once more to staring out at the mine shafts beneath their path, the pulleys and abandoned carts stretching as far as the eye could see before descending into utter darkness. As he watched her from the corner of his eye, Pippin could not help but notice that Amera, though certainly still pretty, had seemed under the weather for the past two days. Her hair, normally lustrous enough to rival that of Legolas, seemed dull and lifeless as they had journeyed deeper into Moria. Even her skin, though certainly pale to begin with, was ashen and grey as she had grown quieter than usual, her normally blazing eyes were distant and tired. While the journey through the darkness had certainly taken its toll on all of them, Amera seemed utterly exhausted as they had continued.

Pippin immediately blushed as Amera perked a brow in his direction, noticing his gaze as he missed his mouth with his spoon and spilled a bit of the concoction onto his lap. She grinned at this and he was relieved to see her smile once more, even if it was at his expense.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Amera! Come help an old man light his pipe!"

Amera looked up, tilting her head as Gandalf suddenly addressed her, but immediately rose to her feet as he called out once more, "Hurry up, then!" Brushing herself off, she carefully walked around the rest of the Fellowship, who quietly convened while Gandalf allowed them a short rest. He patted a small ledge beside him and she gave him a strange look as she lit his pipe, clearly not believing his poorly constructed ruse for calling her over. "Yes, Gandalf?"

He took a deep draw of the pipe, closing his eyes in contentment for a moment before turning to her and quietly inquiring, "What troubles you, dear?"

"You mean besides absolutely everything about Moria?"

He chuckled to himself, issuing a quick wink in her direction before lowering his voice and repeating, "What's wrong, Amera?"

She glanced over her shoulder towards the Fellowship, then turned back to him and whispered, "I feel so very…_drained_, Gandalf." She sighed and scratched the back of her head as she struggled to find the words, "It's as though every ounce of my spirit is crying out for sunlight and air. I've never been away from nature for this long, much less in a place such as this."

He nodded softly, stroking his beard before questioning her further, "And what else?"

She blinked. "There is nothing else."

He was silent as he turned to her, waving a hand for her to continue and she sighed yet again, slumping as she murmured. "I keep dreaming of shadow and flame, Gandalf, of something very old and very evil watching me. It seems, sometimes, as though there is a pulse that echoes through these abandoned chambers where there should be naught but silence, though I am the only one who hears it. I…I think something else is here."

"And does that frighten you, Amera?"

She was silent, her eyes distant as she softly whispered. "It worries me, but I do not fear it."

A small fire was kindled in his eyes as he watched her carefully, puffing on his pipe before replying, "Then what is it that you fear?"

Her shoulders stiffened as she looked out past him, her jaw set as she was silent for a long moment, then barely whispered, "Failure."

"Why?"

Her eyes suddenly blazed as she snapped her attention back to him, her voice raising for a moment in anger and shame. "Because I did not do enough, Mithrandir! I could have stopped him!" She took a breath, looking about as she lowered her voice once more, though it lost none of its passion. "I _failed, _Gandalf, and now my city lies in ruin. And, and even now," She glanced away, running a hand through her hair as she struggled to control her emotion. "I fear that I doomed to repeat my past, that at my end I will look back and despair that I had not done more."

He took her words in, silently continuing to smoke as Amera's shoulders slumped. Finally, he glanced to her and calmly asked, "Do you remember when Saruman and I traveled to Annuminas? I believe it was shortly after Aldamir, or just before Vinyarion."

Momentarily confused, she shrugged and nodded.

He set his pipe down and turned to face her, smiling gently beneath his bushy brows. "You seemed so very young then, Amera, as if the high, shining walls of Annuminas had sheltered you from the cares and pain of the world."

She smiled faintly and looked at her lap, murmuring in amused reply, "Saruman hated me, didn't he?"

"Oh, he thought you an utter fool; a child granted a menial task."

She looked up, her smile fading as she awaited his response, "And you?"

"Me?" He paused and drew from his pipe, furling his brow in thought for a moment. "I saw in you the glimmer he could not, thought I must tell you it was _very _well masked by your youth."

"A glimmer of what, Gandalf?"

He smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with affection as he murmured, "Of strength, my dear Aeliniel." Her eyes widened slightly in surprise and he laughed softly, cupping her beautiful face with his calloused, wrinkled hands as he continued, "Within you lies a thousand possibilities for good, for light to overcome the darkness. And, you could see this as readily as those around you, if you would but cast aside the weight of your prior failings, as you call them and see yourself as those who care for you do."

Her gaze drop and he felt her tremble, her voice barely audible even in the deafening silence of Moria, "I…I cannot, Mithrandir. It is my burden to bear, my punishment."

He sighed and shook his head, almost laughing as he gently tilted her chin to meet her teary gaze, "Do not let your past define your future. Let go of your fear, Amera." He smiled softly and whispered, "Your fate is not yet decided."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note: As always, I hope those who have been following **_**Aeliniel **_**are pleased with each new chapter and to those that may be new viewers, welcome! I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review and critique my work so far, as it does mean very much to me and I truly do take criticism seriously as I strive to not only improve my writing, but the story itself with time. That being said, **_**please **_**feel more than free to leave any comments you may have about the story and know that I'll gladly answer any questions that are asked! And, last but not least, I hope you all enjoy this chapter as its not only the first real battle scene I've ever written, but touches on a subject I think maybe of you have been anticipating….**

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Amera balanced carefully as she followed down the narrow, crumbling stairs behind Legolas, keeping her focus on each step lest she stumble forward, as Pippin had done so many times this morning. She had initially been greatly amused as he blushed and stammered out furious apologies, quietly laughing at his discomfort as he had buried his face in the small of her back as he had been set off balance, but as the stairs had grown even steeper for his small legs, the rate of his slips had greatly increased and she silently wondered if she would wake up the next morning with a bruise shaped curiously like the face of one Peregrin Took. While the going was both long and arduous, the thought of exiting the mines within a day brightened her spirits. Over the past few days she had seen the full magnificence of the proud dwarven culture, the noble columns and intricate doorways emblazoned with runes and carvings that still held beauty despite their abandonment. She had initially been astonished by the sheer enormity of the dwarven kingdom and saddened by its current, broken state, but now yearned desperately for something as simple as a tree to refresh her.

And, withholding a quiet sigh of annoyance as Pippin once more smashed into her and nearly threw her off balance, she smiled faintly over her shoulder and helped steady him before continuing onwards. She caught Boromir's eye and bit the inside of her lip to hide a grin as he stroked his chin, poorly hiding his amusement at her predicament. Looking back once more to the path, she nearly slumped with relief as the stairs came to a sudden end, grateful to feel even ground beneath her tired feet once more. "Behold," Gandalf murmured from ahead of her, raising his staff as his voice lowered in respect, "The dwarven kingdom of Dwarrowdelf."

Her gaze followed his staff as it illuminated the path before them, her eyes widening in disbelief as her neck craned to take in the sheer grandeur of the columns surrounding her, rising what seemed like hundreds of feet from the stone floor to the cavernous ceiling, which was dotted with stalactites truly terrifying in their size. She heard Sam issue a soft gasp from behind her in agreement as she slowly turned, her jaw nearly dropping as the pillars seemed to stretch in intricate rows for as far as the eye could see, Gandalf's light casting shadows against a mere few in what seemed like a forest. However, she felt a small ache of sadness as she marveled at the abandoned city, imagining how the sounds of laughter and life had once echoed here, how dwarves had once scurried beneath these pillars as they bustled to their work, homes and families somewhere lost in the darkness. But now, save for the quiet breath of the Fellowship as they continued through the empty halls, Dwarrowdelf lay deathly silent.

The respectful silence was broken as Gimli suddenly cried out, startling Amera and the rest of the group as he suddenly sprinted towards an adjacent chamber lit by gentle light that no doubt had traveled deep within the earth to arrive at its destination. Gandalf cried out for him to wait as Amera cringed at the vast amount of noise the grieving dwarf was making, Unsheathing her sword, she quickly ran after him, her boots padding softly against the stone floor as she paused when she entered the small room, lowering her head in respect as Gimli wept openly before what could only be a memorial for one of his fallen kin, the bodies of goblins and dwarves scattered around the room as the last defense of Dwarrowdelf had surely failed here. It was a beautiful tomb, she noted, as her eyes traveled over the swirled marble, starkly contrasting the rigid, unrelenting force of the dwarven runes that encircled it, hidden beneath a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

The group slowly gathered around the tomb, Legolas whispering a blessing quietly as Gandalf slowly read, "Here lies Balin, son of Fudin," A sigh escaped his lips as he too lowered his head, "Lord of Moria. He is dead, then, so it is as I feared."

Amera shifted uncomfortably as Gimli's wracked sobs echoed loudly through the chamber, glancing over her shoulder nervously as they waited, her own hand slowly moving to rest beside the hilt of her blade. She watched as the wizard paused, tilting his head as something beside the tomb caught his eye. He removed his hat and placed it, along with his staff, suddenly in the hands of a surprised Pippin, who blinked and held them at arm's length as if dangerous. Crouching down, he ran a finger tentatively along a closed book, its cover buried beneath a thick layer of dust as the skeletal arms of its author clutched it protectively to a hollow chest. He slowly picked up the crumbling pages and opened it, blowing lightly across the page as he began to read.

Her sharp ears picked up on a low murmur from Legolas from behind her as he whispered to Aragorn, "We cannot linger here…"

She glanced over her shoulder and offered a quick nod of agreement, her discomfort growing steadily as Gandalf read the records of the last hours of the fallen dwarven kingdom, "They have taken the bridge and the second hall," He paused, running a finger beneath the scribbled runes, "We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes."

Amera swallowed hard at this, her fingers wrapped instinctively around the leather grip of her blade, taking deep breaths to calm herself as she felt the rush of adrenaline slowly begin to course in her veins. From the corner of her eye, she saw Frodo pale with each word, glancing about in obvious discomfort. "Drums…" Gandalf took a deep breath, "Drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark."

Amera froze at this, her eyes widening as the visions of flame and darkness that had haunted her since her arrival in Moria once more burned into her mind. Surprised by their sudden intensity, she swayed slightly but felt a strong hand rest against her shoulder steady her as she raised a hand to her brow in discomfort, a voice murmuring in her ear, "Are you well, Amera?"

She shifted and found herself staring into the piercing green eyes of the Captain General of Gondor, who looked at her with concern as he awaited her response. Glancing down swiftly, she managed a nod and whispered, "Yes, I…I am fine."

Gandalf's voice slowly echoed through the chamber, "They are coming."

But she could respond, a bone-rattling echo sounded through the chamber and her blade flashed in the pale light as she instinctively drew it, her knees bending slightly as she drew herself into a defensive stance, eyes desperately scanning for the source of the clamor. And there, beside a horrified Pippin, she saw the waist of a skeletal dwarf disappear as it tilted backwards and fell down what could only be a well. Cringing with each metallic clang that pierced the silence, her eyes widened in fear as she glanced around the chamber, searching for anything that could have been awakened by the sudden noise. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the room grew silent as the echoes faded and she closed her eyes in relief, while Boromir let out an audible sigh from beside her.

Gandalf simply stared at Pippin, who bit his lip and lowered his head in obvious shame as the wizard snatched back his staff and hat, growling, "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

Pippin looked so utterly distraught at this that Amera could not help but pity him and moved to comfort him as Gandalf turned, but froze mid-step, feeling the beat of her heart in her throat as she strained to listen, praying that her sharp senses had been wrong.

_Boom._

She released a slow, shaky breath as she glanced to the others to affirm her fears and as her gaze fell upon the terrified hobbits, the steady rhythm of the drums in the deep increasing with alarming speed, she knew she had heard correctly. Suddenly, screeches and shrieks could be heard as distant flames appeared outside the chamber in the darkness, growing steadily brighter as the new inhabitants of Moria sought out those who had intruded upon their home. She blinked as Frodo suddenly drew his dagger from beside her, her eyes widening as it glowed a bright shade of blue. His wide eyes met hers and she swallowed her fear as she summoned all the courage she could muster, holding his gaze and slowly nodding before turning to face the entry to the chamber.

Boromir struggled to shut the doors as the cries of the approaching goblins grew loudly and she rushed to help him, Aragorn stepping by his side as he recoiled, a few arrows sinking into the rotted wood where his face had been only moments ago. "Grab anything you can find!" He called out to her and she searched the hands of the corpses that surrounded her, sheathing her blade as she grabbed the handles of axes and long poles and threw them to Aragorn, who struggled to barricade the door alongside Boromir.

She took a step back as Aragorn and Legolas drew their bows, aiming carefully between the broken chunks of the door as they fired blind arrows into the mass that teemed behind it. Gimli roared from behind her, lusting for the taste of vengeance for his fallen brethren, "Let them come! There is one dwarf in Moria that still draws breath!"

The shrieks and clamor now grew deafening as the doors struggled to hold back the fray that pushed against it and she heard Gandalf warn the hobbits to stay close as the sound of his own sword scrapping against his sheath reached her ears. Steeling herself, she drew a slow, deep breath and reached down to wrap her fingers around the handles of her daggers, unsheathing them as she felt adrenaline serge through her being and willed herself to control it as her mind flickered images of a broken, ruined Annuminas.

_I was born of light and of water, of the hope that shone in the hearts of the Men of the West._

_I am the Dagorwen, sworn enemy of Angmar and champion of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. _

_I am Aeliniel._

She slowly opened her blazing eyes, stepping forward to stand beside Boromir and Aragorn as lowered her long daggers to her sides, shining lethally as her fingers curled around the hilts and prepared to taste blood once more. She glanced beside her and caught Boromir's eye, who nodded to her as he raised his shield, twirling his sword in anxiety as they waited for the first lines to break through the doors. His auburn hair fell down over his deep eyes as they met hers and he mouthed, "Be safe, Amera."

"You, as well, Boromir." She whispered as she turned, her slender chest slowly rising and falling as she steeled herself for battle, running her tongue over her lips as her heart beat in her throat. She closed her eyes for a brief moment more as she heard the fragile timbers of the doors shatter against the force of the beasts, a single word ringing through her consciousness as she centered her focus and thoughts slowly down the tips of her blades.

_Aeliniel._

Her eyes immediately open and she roared as she charged the creatures, their yellowed eyes momentarily opening in surprise as she moved faster than humanly possible, her instincts honed over hundreds of years of dedication as she parried and slashed with terrifying precision.

OOOOOOOOO

Merry was reassured as he felt Pippin's shoulder against his as they fought, his arm throbbing with pain as he barely deflected the blows of creatures far stronger than himself. He gasped as his blade suddenly lodged itself between the plates of the rusted chestpiece of a goblin, which shrieked at him with thick fangs and stringy hair as blood spurted from its wound, screaming in pain as it slowly fell before Merry's feet. "Look out!" Pippin cried out from beside him and he jumped to the side, narrowly missing the arch of an vicious, jagged sword as it swung down through the air. He cried out in terror as an enormous orc leered over him, beating its chest with a hand larger than his own face as spittle from its bloodied teeth rained down on him. Surely a captain, Merry gasped as he barely parried yet another blow from the giant, his arm screaming in pain as he desperately searched for any that could aid him.

And, sure enough, Amera's fierce eyes met his, widening momentarily before she broke into a sprint from across the chamber. She screamed, "Hold on, Merry!," as he fell backwards, stumbling over the rubble scattered on the stone floor. Desperate, his fingers closed around a chunk of rock and he threw it instinctively, momentarily stunning the goblin captain as it staggered backward, roaring as it raised a clawed hand to its bloodied head. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Amera moved like quicksilver, her daggers striking and retreating for the next blow in a single, fluid motion as she spun and slashed. She jumped onto the tomb, her footing sure as she sprinted across it and leaped towards him, her dark hair streaming around her as she landed and instantly fell into a spin, her daggers cutting through two orcs as she rose with a cry.

She notched an arm back and let a blade fly through the air, blood splashing onto Merry as the silver edge suddenly appeared through the armored chest of the captain before him, which fell to its knees with a blood-curdling scream of agony and fury. Amera then savagely cut through its neck, kicking the body down as she retrieved the dagger's twin from its chest as the leering head rolled towards Merry. He looked at her eyes wide with terror, both from the horror of beautiful and the mercilessness of her actions. She gave him a small nod of comfort and was gone before he could respond, disappearing into the fray.

OOOOOOO

Amera's growled in disgust as she felt blood stain her face as her blades cut down another foe, though she saw no end in sight as more and more goblins streamed into the chamber with every passing moment, their crude weapons clanging against the beauty of that which the Fellowship bore as they battled, rusted iron against elven and Westernesse steel. Suddenly, something smashed into her back and she was thrown to the ground, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes as a cave troll smashed through the door, its club swinging wildly as it brought down both stone and any that stood in its path. Its roar echoed through the chamber and she cringed momentarily with pain, her senses reeling from battle as she quickly rose to her feet.

As each enemy appeared before her, her mind flashed with images of Fornost and the endless forces of Angmar, their black chants turning into a single cry that had swept across the battlefield. She had learned quickly, those many years ago, of the horror of battle and she was again reminded as the thick blood of the fallen goblins sank into her gloves and skin, staining her face and robes as is sputtered from severed limbs and precise wounds. However, unlike at Fornost, she knew as her foot snaked out to trip a goblin before she drove a blade through its neck, she was in control, her actions definitive as she took note of all around her, watching for the welfare of her friends as she fought with centuries of bottled fury and grief.

Occasionally, she found herself roaring the name of the kings so beloved to her as she struck down another foe, channeling her deep pain at their loss and her failinsg down the curve of her blades as they met their targets with vengeance over and over again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn and Boromir pull back on a long silver chain and turned, her gaze following the rusted links to the collar that encircled the cave troll's throat as it staggered backwards, its massive arms flailing wildly as it was choked. Aragorn ducked and narrowly dodged a swipe, his hands flying into the air as he fell and Boromir stared down at the chain, now limp in his hands. Before Amera could cry a warning, the troll savagely whipped the chain through the air and she watched in horror as son of the Steward flew through the air, his strong form slamming viciously into a pillar. Her eyes widened as he fell limply to the floor, her sword and shield falling from his hands as he did not move.

Before she could so much as think, she found her feet flying over the rubble and mangled corpses as she cut down anything in her path with renewed savagery, her mind ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulders and arms as it focused solely on the body that lay before her. Her eyes widened with horror as he reached him, his body unmoving as she called out his name, kneeling beside him, time seeming to slow down as her hair swirled over her shoulders. She cradled his head carefully, losing sight of all else as she quickly brushed his hair away from his eyes, her thumb leaving a smear of blood across his forehead. Her voice cracked as she urgently cried out once more, "_Boromir!" _and felt absolute panic, unlike anything she had ever known, grip her as he lay still in her arms. She looked up to see a goblin approaching and threw her dagger into its neck with deadly precision as she looked back down. He was so very, very still, his strong face deathly pale save for dark splashes of blood and she suddenly felt rage mingle with her fear, shaking him roughly as she needed him to wake.

A choked sob escaped from her lips as she laid him gently down, tears welling in her flickering eyes as she slowly brushed her thumb along the edge of his noble cheekbone and whispered one last time, "Please."

Amera gasped with utter relief as his eyelids slowly trembled and he shifted in her arms, shaking his head slowly as he struggled to gain understanding of his surroundings as she gently released him from her grip. He groaned softly and stirred as he sat up, raising a gloved hand to his head. He then opened his proud, green eyes and met her own stormy gaze, holding it for a long moment as he opened his mouth to speak. And, before she knew what she was doing, Amera found herself suddenly silencing him as she abruptly moved her head forward, her lips meeting his own as she acted without thinking. Her kiss was savage in its sudden desperation and absolute lack of practice with such matters, unrestrained in its passion as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She tasted blood and did not know whether it came from her lips or his, but cared not as she acted on utter instinct, breaking the kiss as suddenly as she had begun it as she stared at him with wide eyes, as surprised as Boromir at her actions. She glanced away, her face burning as she saw his eyes widen with emotion she could not identify and swiftly rose, extending a hand to him as he struggled to rise. Their eyes met again for a flickering, brief moment, but Amera broke his gaze as she knelt to retrieve her other dagger and returned once more to a battle that did not terrify her as much as the conflicting emotions that surged through her mind and heart.


	17. The Sacrifice of Mithrandir

**Author's Note: Once again, thank you to all the lovely reviewers and to those that have added me to Story Alert! This was an enormously difficult chapter to write for many reasons, but I hope I've done one of Tolkien's most poignant, and famous scenes, justice in my attempt to reproduce it. As always, reviews are more than welcome and greatly appreciated, so feel free to let me know what you think so far and any ideas about where the plot may develop! **

****

Pippin's eyes widened as Frodo slowly shifted the collar of his dirtied shirt to reveal glittering chainmail, a beautiful white gold instead of the silver links he had come to recognize, embroidered with exquisite details and what could only appear to be pearls. "Mithril…" Gimli gasped slowly from beside him, but Pippin cared not for the finer details of the armor, merely that his friend lived after a blow that surely should have been his end. Though clearly in pain, Frodo slowly rose to his feet as Aragorn extended a hand, brushing himself off as Pippin turned to examine the chamber before them.

His stomach churned as his eyes swept over the thick, dark splatters of blood that coated the once glistening marble of the pillars and floors, severed limbs and mangled corpses lay scattered about where they had fallen. Their crude weapons shone in the pale light against the floor and the massive corpse of the cave troll still frightened him, though he knew it would never rise again. His gaze lingered over the head of a goblin, its yellow eyes flecked with blood as its fangs widened in a never-ending howl and choked back the urge to vomit, turning his head quickly as he sucked in a deep breath. But, he paused and tilted his head as something different caught his eye. There, among the black, rusted armor and dark skin of the goblin, lay a flash of blue.

He looked back once more the Fellowship, who hurriedly gathered themselves to continue, his eyes widening in fear as he did not see Amera among them. Pippin dashed as fast as his aching legs could carry him to the figure and froze as Amera slowly turned to him. She was deathly pale as she struggled to rise, clutching her side as she stood with visibly shaking limbs. She swallowed hard and raised a trembling hand to brush the hair from her face, her eyes distant as she took a slow, deep breath. And then, he took notice of her other hand, pressed tightly above the right side of her slender hip and the pure, crimson droplets that slowly slipped from her fingers and splashed onto the floor.

He opened his mouth to cry out to the rest of the Fellowship, who still gathered over Frodo, but Amera raised her hand to her lips and shook her head, her fingers leaving their dark stain against her mouth as she slowly moved to him. "Amera…." He gazed at her, tears springing in his eyes as he watched his friend suffer with every step, clearly in agony. "Pippin, I-"

She took a deep, shuddering breath and removed her hand from the wound with a deep gasp, her eyes closing in pain. He stared in horror at the dark stain that spread across her robes, but she roughly put a hand against his shoulder as her fierce eyes met his. "I…I will be fine. Say nothing, _please_."

He wanted to argue, to plead with her to tell Gandalf or the others, but the pure desperation in her eyes convinced him otherwise and he nodded as she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as she coughed down a wince, her hands trembling as she moved the fabric to cover the stain of her wound. The group looked up at them as they walked back, Amera's jaw set tightly as she was silent.

"We must continue on, Gandalf!" Legolas murmured from beside him, casting a nervous glance towards the scattered bodies, "We do not know what else may be searching."

Gandalf nodded and wrapped his hand tightly around his staff, his other moving to rest firmly on the hilt of his blade, "To the Bridge of Khazad-dum!"

They ran, swiftly and silently through the empty halls, Pippin watched Amera from the corner of her eye, feeling his heart break as he watched her grow paler and paler with each new step. She bit her lip roughly to silence what no doubt were cries of pain as she held her hand firmly over the blossoming stain, a trickle of vibrant crimson making its way down her chin from the intensity of the withheld gasps. Slowly but surely, Amera slid from the front of the group to the very back, now struggling to even keep her pace with the huffing Gimli, who encouraged her between gasps for air. The shrieks behind them grew louder as the goblins massed and chased the intruders and Pippin saw with horror that many even scurried from the cracks in the ceiling like vermin, their clawed hands and feet gripping the ancient stone pillars as they descended towards the Fellowship.

He heard Amera cry out as she tripped, struggling to rise as her eyes closed in pain. He reached for her, but Legolas was at once beside her and pulled her to her feet, resting a hand against her back as he helped her run. Pippin gasped as a horde of goblins suddenly appeared before them, his feet sliding against the floor as he struggled to slow himself, bumping into Aragorn's back as the Fellowship clustered together in defense. He swallowed hard as he raised his sword with a trembling hand, looking out over the sea of creatures that screamed and howled in victory as they surrounded his friends. So, he thought to himself as a goblin tilted his head at him, licking its fangs in obvious pleasure, this is how his end was to come. In the cold dark, in bloodshed, so far away from the green pastures and lazy clouds of the Shire that his heart yearned for. But, he smiled faintly to himself as he saw Merry from the corner of his eye and Frodo standing strong beside him, Sting glittering in his hands, at least he would die with his friends. He could ask for no more than that.

A growling, harsh sound suddenly cut through the air and the vile mass froze, their hooded eyes widening as they looked this way and that. The noise grew louder in volume as it repeated itself and Pippin suddenly felt a tendril of deep, profound fear rise in him as the goblins suddenly shrieked in terror, retreating in the darkness of the mines as swiftly as they had appeared. Gimli laughed proudly at this, shaking his axe in defiance at the backs of the fleeing creatures, but Pippin felt no comfort as the shadows at the columns were swiftly eaten away by the flickering images of fire; red, crimson and yellows illuminated the stately pillars as a deep echoed once more through the empty halls. The rest of the Fellowship turned as well, staring as whatever brought forth such fire grew steadily closer.

"What," Pippin heard Boromir whisper from beside him, "is this new devilry?"

Gandalf was silent for a long moment, closing his eyes as the company stared in horror as the approaching flames. He finally, slowly, answered, "A Balrog."

Pippin whirled around as he saw a sudden, swift movement from the corner of his eye and watched as Amera fell, her dark hair streaming around her pale face as her body went horrifying limp and landed roughly against the stone floor.

"Amera!" Aragorn cried as he knelt beside her and brushed dirtied curls away from her face, his eyes filled with worry as her slender chest rose and fell with alarming irregularity, each breath echoing in her lungs as she bit her lip in pain as she struggled to rise to her knees. He reached a hand towards her and she recoiled, smacking it away as she hissed, "Leave it."

"What are you talkin' about, lass? I don't see…" Gimli's voice faded as her cloak slipped to the floor as she continued to fight to stand, crimson now staining the right side of her robe and her delicate hand as she pressed it tightly to the wound. She stared up at the Fellowship as they silently watched her in horror, Legolas slowly reaching a hand downwards to assess the wound. "Amera, we must bandage it quickly and continue, let me-"

"_I said leave it!_" Amera roared at him, her eyes blazing with fury and pain as she spat, taking a deep breath, shuddering breath. She roughly drew her hand across her mouth, staining it with her own blood as she swallowed hard, continuing, "You have not the time to tarry, my friends. Let me aid you as best I can now."

Pippin shook his head, confused at her words as he felt tears spring in his eyes at the sight of the wounded Aeliniel, her fair, strong features contorting in pain with each breath. She looked up at Gandalf, whispering now as her eyes glistened by the glow of his staff, "I will give you what time I can, but you must hurry, Mithrandir. I will not be able to hold it for long, but it should be enough."

She choked back a sob as she mustered the energy to rise, biting down on her lip as her blooded hand slowly slid to remove her blade from its sheath. Amera looked to Gandalf once more, her voice almost calm as she drew a slow breath and murmured, "Let this be my redemption, old friend." A faint smile appeared on her face as her eyes grew distant, "Flame and shadow, water and light…a meeting worthy of legend."

Pippin then understood the meaning of her words and shook his head as he cried out, held back by the strong hand of Legolas, who stared at the maiden before him in both respect and sorrow. Gandalf slowly opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced as Boromir suddenly strode forward and swept Amera in his arms, his hands grasping beneath her knees as he pulled her to him, holding her close as he roared, "Lead on, Gandalf!"

Amera fought his strong embrace, tears streaming down her face as she cried, "Boromir, no! _Let me do this!_" She struggled in his grasp and gasped in agony as his hand brushed against her deep wound, but he refused to let her free as he clasped her to his broad chest. Gandalf stood and watched for a moment longer, then nodded and began to sprint away from the flames that flickered ever closer, crying "Hurry!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merry gasped for air with each new step, his lungs screaming for rest as his mind ignored the pain that surged through his as he sprinted. They had been lucky to make it this far, he knew, as they had barely avoided the arrows of goblin archers stationed high among the columns and streets of the abandoned city as they had fired down upon the fleeing group. Strider and Frodo had nearly plummeted to their deaths, rescued only by ranger's swift thinking and an enormous amount of luck. Still, he hoped as his aching feet brushed against the rough stone of the bridge beneath them, that perhaps the end of this nightmare was close at hand.

He felt a lump rise in his throat as he saw Amera's pale hand fall from Boromir's grasp, her slender body bouncing like a rag doll as he carried her before him. She was silent now, her eyes closed as her chest barely rose and fell as she had slipped from consciousness. The guttural rumbles of the Balrog pierced the air as they fled and he glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment, fearing the terror surge through him as the wings of the creature burst forth, flames licking the stone with each booming step. He gasped in relief as they finally crossed the dangerous bridge that spanned over immense darkness beneath. He felt Aragorn's hand on his shoulder, ushering him forward, but stopped and whirled around as Gandalf's strong voice, suddenly rang through the rocky caverns.

"You cannot pass!"

Merry's eyes widened in horror as the monstrosity flared its nostrils and spread its ashen arms wide, suddenly bursting forth into terrible flame as it roared in defiance. A blazing light then radiated from Gandalf staff and he blinked as its sheer brightness momentarily blinded him, peering forward with narrowed eyes as the wizard cried out, "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

The halfling stood, transfixed as a blazing sword appeared in the creature's hand and arched through the air towards Gandalf, leaving a smoky trail in its stead as it shattered upon contact with the pure light encircling their leader. Amera's back arched in the corner of his eye as she gasped, her eyes widening in pain as her entire body trembled. Thrashing wildly now, her beautiful face contorted as the creature bellowed in fury and Boromir clutched her ever closer, turning her face into his chest with a gloved hand as he brushed his lips against her dirtied forehead.

Frodo rushed forward from beside him as Gandalf bellowed, "Go back to the shadow!," but was stopped as Aragorn grabbed him roughly, holding back him as he struggled to reach the wizard.

A thread of flame issued from the creature's maw as it took yet another step forward with a cloven foot, streaming darkness from its scorched body as it brandished a whip licked by flame, snapping it through the air menacingly as it snarled at Gandalf. Merry wanted to cry out to the wizard, who had lead them through so much in so little try, to warn him, to save him, to do _anything,_ but found himself unable to form words as Gandalf roared in open defiance, his glittering sword and staff raising as one, "_YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"_

A flash of bright, pure light blinded Merry as Gandalf's staff struck the bridge and he fell back, shielding his eyes as the Balrog stepped forward, its shadow utterly dark against the hope that shone forth from Gandalf. An enormous crack suddenly filled the air and he gasped the bridge collapsed under the weight of the beast, its furious bellows piercing the air as it plunged backwards into the looming chasm and he cried out in victory, but stopped, frozen in place as the fiery tendril of the demon's whip suddenly appeared, wrapping itself around Gandalf's ankle as he turned to face the Fellowship,

Gandalf gasped and dropped his staff and blade as he was pulled backwards, his fingers digging into the stone as he was drug over the edge of the broken bridge. The world slowed as Frodo cried out from beside him, struggling against Strider's grasp as Gimli took a step forward, his eyes wide as his axe fell from his hands in disbelief. Amera was all at once deathly silent, unmoving in Boromir's hold as he stared ahead, his chest rising and falling. Merry watched in disbelief, refusing to believe what his mind told him as truth and what his heart could not yet comprehend.

"Fly, you fools."

And before any of the Fellowship could move, Gandalf met their eyes for but a moment longer and slipped from the bridge, falling into the endless dark of the chasm.


	18. The Path to Lorien

**Author's Note: Short chapter this time! I normally don't like writing less than 2,500 words per segment, but I have no idea how else to split up the next few parts. I'm also trying to decide how to reword the summary for **_**Aeliniel **_**to hopefully attract more readers and, in turn, hopefully reviewers, so if you lovely individuals have any advice, I'd be deeply greatful! Enjoy and look for the next chapter tomorrow night! (*fingers crossed*)**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Aragorn was silent as he carefully untied the strings of her leather hauberk, gently shifting her as he laid it aside and placed a strip of cloth over her slender chest as he pulled open her robe. He bit his lip as his eyes fell upon the deep gash that pierced her pale side. He struggled to hide his emotions as he tenderly examined the wound, not wishing to alarm the already heartbroken hobbits, who now gathered to watch him. Legolas knelt beside him and slowly wiped away the dried, crusted blood that stained her torso with the edge of his cloak, speaking quietly to the ranger in Sindarin, "How does she fare?"

Aragorn sighed and brushed back a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes, keeping his voice as he murmured, "I cannot say yet, friend, but if we do not reach Lorien by the morrow, I fear for her." Legolas was silent as his words sank in and Aragorn looked back once more to the wound, so terribly red against her ivory skin that had known so little sunlight over the long course of her existence. He felt his heart ache as he gently prodded the wound with the tip of a finger and Amera's back arched in agony, the veins in her neck prominent as she gasped.

"Just a moment longer, Amera," He whispered as he prepared himself, then carefully reached into the wound, searching for something. Legolas' hands immediately fell to her shoulders and he held her down as she thrashed wildly, sweat pouring down her body as her damp hair clung to her forehead and cheekbones, her hands shaking violently by her sides. "There!" Aragorn swiftly withdrew his hand, stained a deep red, and clutched something slender between his thumb and forefinger as it glinted in the evening light.

"What is it, Strider?" Merry asked softly as he stared down at the suddenly still form of the Aeliniel.

"A shard of the weapon that pierced her broke within the wound, Merry." Aragorn drew it close to his face, narrowing his eyes as he examined it before tossing it aside in disgust.

"Well, that's good!" Pippin chimed in, attempting a smile for the first time since Moria. Aragorn remained silent as he pressed the back of his hand tenderly against her forehead, resisting the urge to recoil as her skin, normally so unearthly cool, seemed to nearly burn him as his hand came near. Pippin then spoke up once more, his voice fading to a whisper, "Isn't it?"

"The goblins no doubt tainted their blades with some foul poison harvested from the depths of Moria," Legolas spat and Aragorn sighed quietly, raising a hand as he turned to Pippin, resting the clean hand softly on his shoulder, "Amera needs rest more than anything, Pippin."

Aragorn felt his heart break once more as the small shred of hope in Pippin's eyes disappeared as the hobbit took a small step back and unsure of what to do, he carefully began to dress Amera's wound as best he could, slowly wrapping strips of cloth around her waist. The fierce outline of her ribs and hipbones worried him as her chest slowly rose and fell, each breath decidedly labored now as she lay still. His eyes fell on her lips, which normally struggled, and failed more often than not, to hide the thousands of emotions that flickered through her on any given day, that now glowed a girlish shade of red as her fever grew. He glanced over his shoulder as his thoughts were interrupted by Boromir, who spoke for the first time since he had almost begged for more time outside the doors of Moria, his face set with grief as he struggled to contain not only his emotion, but be forced to endure the utter grief of the hobbits as they mourned their fallen leader. "We must get her aid, Aragorn. We cannot delay."

"Our path must lead swiftly to Lothlorien, Aragorn," Legolas slipped back into the Common Tongue, "The healers there may be able to save h-," He paused as the eyes of the hobbits grew wide, sighing quietly as he rephrased his statement a moment too late, "Help her."

Aragorn nodded and held up a hand as Boromir stepped forward, kneeling to take Amera in his arms. He smiled faintly, nodding as he murmured, "Rest now, Boromir. Let me take her a while." Boromir was silent for a long moment, his jaw set before he finally nodded and rose, though Aragorn saw his eye never left the pale face of their companion. He carefully relaced her robes, sighing deeply as she quietly gasped for Mithrandir in her fever, tiny dots of sweat trailing down her strong features as they mingled with tears. He took her in his arms, cradling her as gently as he could as the exhausted Fellowship traveled onwards, casting a look down at Amera.

She was so heartbreakingly light, weighing so unbearably little as he held her close that he felt he carried a child, who merely slept in his arms, instead of a feverish, wounded woman in desperate need of aid he could not provide. And he knew, deep within himself, though he could not bear to admit it to himself or the others, that the Aeliniel, councilor to his ancestors, protector of the realm of Annuminas, Champion of the Free Peoples and most importantly, his friend, was slowly but surely dying in his arms.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Ah, and what have we here?" The elf perked a slender brow as his gaze fell upon Amera, who slumped lifelessly in Aragorn's arms and the sheer curiosity in his voice so enraged Gimli that he took a step forward, prepared to unleash the fury of dwarven curses upon him. He was stopped, however, by Boromir's hand upon his shoulder and which, he could not help but notice, seemed equally as clenched as Gimli's own hands, which were curled into fists by his sides.

"You know of her, Haldir." Aragorn replied softly, clearly frustrated as well, but managing to keep his temper in check far better than the rest of the company. The elf named Haldir stepped forward and cast an almost bored glance over Amera, Gimli noted with growing rage, his voice pompously soft as he replied, "So, the rumors are true, then. We had heard that the Aeliniel had disregarded the words of Lord Elrond and perhaps had chosen to accompany you, but this was mere speculation."

"And perhaps you'd care to speculate on it further once Amera's received aid," Boromir growled suddenly, his eyes dark as he glared in open defiance at the elven marchwarden, "She needs immediate care, friend."

Haldir resisted a smart reply at this, clearly swallowing his words as he paused and Gimli further resisted slamming his fist into the noble features of the elf that towered above him, "I cannot allow you further into the realm without the permission of my lady." He turned, waving an arm behind him towards the depths of the golden forest, "It is not lightly that we receive visitors, much less in times such as these."

Gimli stared in outrage, his jaw dropped as he angrily stepped forward and raised his gaze to match that of the elf's, stopping only when an arrow was aimed swiftly at his head as a reminder of his station, "We've already lost one of our company, elf, would you willingly have the blood of another needlessly on your hands?"

Haldir paused at this, carefully looking over the heartbroken faces of the Fellowship before swiftly turning on his heels to speak in low tones amongst those who had accompanied him. Gimli strained to hear, but sighed as he realized that even if he could pick up on the silvery tones of their voices, he would be unable to understand it. Instead, he sat angrily on the ground in a huff, stroking his beard as his mind wandered, silently cursing the elves and their ridiculous propriety, their disgusting sense of self-importance and their absolute lack of any decent, manly sort of facial hair.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Haldir turned and nodded to one of his companions, who strode forward as he intoned, "We will lend your companion what aid we can." Aragorn gave a deep sigh of relief, but gave a look of confusion as the elf outstretched his slender arms for Amera. Gimli, equally unsure of what was happening, attempted to take a step forward but was once more stopped by the sudden presence of an arrow directed between his eyes.

"You will wait here, until we have permission from the Lord and Lady to let you continue." Haldir calmly stated and Aragorn, after a brief moment, gently kissed the sweat-drenched brow of the Aeliniel and laid her carefully in the arms of the strange elf. Gimli wanted to argue terribly, to accuse the pompous man before him of well, a great many things, but silenced him after understanding that any delay would prove ill for Amera, who he knew to desperately be running out of time. However, he could not help but notice the worry and fear in the eyes of the hobbits as their friend was suddenly led away in the arms of one unfamiliar, disappearing swiftly behind the thick boroughs and bright leaves of the forest that lay before them. He sighed and lowered his head as the last glimpse of her dark hair was hidden by distance, whispering in the proud tongue of his father and his father, "Be well, Amera."

"She once passed through Lothlorien, _Amera_, as you call her." Aragorn tilted his head slightly and Gimli immediately looked up as Haldir smiled ever so faintly, "It was very long ago, indeed, that she silently passed beneath the golden leaves," He sighed and looked over his shoulder, as if his piercing eyes could still make out a glance of the Aeliniel, "Clad in black and in sorrow as she mourned her lost king." He turned back to the Fellowship, nodding slowly as he finished, "We will see to her, worry not."

OOOOOOOOOOO

_Her mind had learned far, far long ago to ignore the pain that coursed through every muscle, every bone and every ounce of spirit that dwelt in her exhausted body. It had protested at first, of course, as the lining of her boots had slowly grown coarse, then threadbare, then dissolved entirely as they fell from her feet in heaps of leather. Yet she continued onwards, paying no heed to the cuts and bruises that lined her feet and ankles for she had no reason to turn back now. In fact, she had no reason to go anywhere at all. And, she had decided, if she had nowhere to go then she would simply wait for her body to let her know when to stop._

_ Her mind and body had long since disconnected, her thoughts absent save for a few flickering images and a single word that surged through her consciousness despite her best efforts to bury it deep within her sorrow and pain. _Banishment. _At first, she had wept as she had left all she had known behind, shining proudly as an agonizing reminder of the years, no, _ages _of service she had given of her own free will. All those years, now rendered useless. But now, she decided there were no tears left in her body, no visible traces of the sorrow that wracked each moment like a curse as she wandered onwards. The bright colors that painted the sky, slowing rising with the sun, were but grey to her. The pale afternoon light that she had once loved to read in, sheltered beneath the thick leaves of the trees that lined the gardens were but a way of knowing that night approached. The sweet smell of rain, flickering droplets that had cleansed her skin as she danced openly beneath gave little more than occasional taste of water._

_And so the world passed around her without meaning or joy._

_ Finally, she collapsed one day and came to rest upon thick, cool moss and the occasional snaking root of the ancient trees that surrounded her. Her breathing was shallow as she looked up at the night sky above her, the pattern of the stars unfamiliar to her as her eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. She spread her arms wide and gently dug her fingers into the earth, sighing as the richness of the soil spread into her aching limbs and surrounded her like a familiar cloak as she gave into her sorrow. A faint, bittersweet smile danced across her features as her eyes slowly closed in sweet, long-desired relief._


	19. Lost & Found

Merry lowered his head out of respect as the shining lady before him offered a faint smile towards the battered Fellowship, though his wonder at her was still touched by a shred of fear. While Amera had occasionally frightened him in her unapologetic savagery during battle, her feral nature occasionally revealing itself as her blade had danced and her calm eyes had blazed, he can come to realize that at her true core, Amera was gentle. The occasional bursts of gentle laughter, the way her nose scrunched slightly as she flashed a rare wide, grin…those small moments that had made her tangible, accessible as an ally and as a friend, none were present as Galadriel stood before him. Amera had chosen to mask her true power, he knew, and Galadriel's power rolled forth from her in great, shining waves. This Lady of Light was comforting in her words and actions, yes, but he could not feel comfortable in her presence as she had smiled at them, her words pleasant to the ear yet tinged with dire warning that sank deep within him.

Strider had asked about Amera as they had climbed the stairs that swirled around the enormous trunk of the grand tree that housed the chambers of Celeborn and Galadriel, a _talan_ as one of the elves had quietly explained to a bewildered Gimli as they had passed from Cerin Amroth and ventured farther into the golden forests of Lothlorien. It has seemed almost dreamlike, their journey through the trees, as shining leaves had ever so slowly descended from the towering trees above them and spiraled to greet them along the lantern-lit pathways. He would occasionally spy elves dancing beneath the moonlight in one of the numerous glades they had passed, their fair hair pure as it fell upon their noble shoulders as they spun and twirled, their voices foreign to his ears, but filled with hope and warmth and light.

The city of Caras Galadhon had been enough to steal his breath away as he had craned his neck in a vain attempt to see the innumerable talans and bridges that spanned from tree to tree, the steps that led from their bases at the ground decorated with intricate trellises and hanging lanterns that shone as bright as the stars. And, as he had first looked up the Lady of Light as she had slowly descended, arm in arm with her husband, he had wanted to weep, for he knew deep in his heart that should their quest fail, as even now it faltered, that such beauty would forever pass from Middle Earth and fade from all memory.

As they had traveled for the past few days through the golden wood, someone would occasionally bring up Amera, inquiring if there was anything to be heard about her health. The elves had shook their heads and replied that they knew nothing and though Merry's troubled spirit rejoiced to be free from the dark of Moria, his mind often traveled to Amera and while he would first see her shining eyes and slender, laughing lips, he would be then be haunted by the way she had hung in Strider's arms as he had carried her, the way the veins in her neck had been so very blue against her ivory skin. And then, of course, fire and shadow would flash before his eyes as Gandalf fell once more in his memory, the fresh scar of his grief ripped anew time and time again.

"Go now and rest," He looked up slowly as Galadriel continued, her smile radiant as she cast her soft eyes upon him briefly, "For you are weary with much sorrow and toil. Tonight you shall sleep in peace. And," She turned slightly, casting a slender hand towards the side of the steps as she quietly laughed, a silver, tinkling sound. "I believe there is one who would might lead you there, should you ask it of them."

Merry tilted his head in confusion as he narrowed his eyes, the light flowing from Galadriel's form was so bright he could only make out a form that waited in the shadows of the trellis encircled them. His eyes widened as the figure stepped into the pale light and Amera was illuminated before him. She walked very slowly, he immediately noticed, and favored her left leg, but nonetheless she _moved_. A gentle smile flickered across her face and she bowed her head in greeting, a small iron circlet etched with the slender images of leaves as it rested upon her dark brow. She was clad in a dark blue gown that flowed over her boyish frame and bare feet elegantly, a far cry from the dirtied robes she had proudly worn as they had traveled, smudged with mud and tattered from wear as they had left the comfort of Rivendell farther and farther behind. The unruly waves of her hair, which Amera had constantly been flicking away from her eyes with a tired sigh, now lay straight and lustrous as she finally spoke, her voice so terribly soft that Merry had to strain to make out each word, "Well met, friends."

Pippin suddenly dashed forward from beside him, encircling her waist as he hugged her tightly. Amera's eyes opened wide in surprise as she winced slightly at the sudden contact, but nonetheless smiled and laughed as she knelt, returning the hug warmly as she planted a small kiss upon his dirty curls. "And a warm welcome to you, Pippin!" Merry laughed and strode forward as well, comforted as her slender arms embraced him, as well. After a moment, she slowly rose, her hand trailing to her hip as she walked towards the rest of the Fellowship. She murmured something in elvish to Legolas, who nodded slowly in return as a rare shadow of a smile passed across her lips.

She embraced Sam and Frodo softly, then laughed freely as Gimli hugged her openly, though Merry saw she resisted a small wince of pain as his gloves brushed against her no doubt tender side. Aragorn took a step towards her and placed his hand over his heart, inclining his head in respect but grinned as Amera rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around him, whispering something Merry was unable to make out in his ear. He saw that her eyes flickering over to Boromir briefly, who appeared so very weary that he might collapse at any moment and while he expected her to give him the warmest of embraces, for he knew that they had grown closer in the past weeks, she instead said nothing as she turned her glance back once more to the group as a whole.

"I must thank you all for the swiftness in which you bore me to this place, though no doubt you were burdened greatly."

"It was our honor, Amera Dagorwen," Legolas softly replied with a tilt of his regal head, "You have aided us greatly and as such we did naught but repay you."

A strange emotion passed over her stormy eyes and Merry suddenly saw in them a deep sadness, though she had hidden it well until this point. Beneath her smile lay a shadow of great sorrow, her shoulders tired beneath the grief that every member of the Fellowship shared. But, she shifted slightly and her true emotions were once more masked as she motioned down the steep stairs of the talan. "Rest now, for you deserve it."

Aragorn nodded and began the careful descent once more to the forest floor and as Merry passed, Amera suddenly knelt and whispered into his ear, "I'll visit later, when Galadriel cannot overhear all that I say." Her voice was playful, different from the somber, elven tones she had just displayed, and he grinned as she rose and cast a quick wink towards him before smoothing out her robes and adopting the calm visage of the elves. If nothing else, he decided as he slowly placed one foot before the other on the difficult incline of the stars, Amera was back.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The next week passed quickly as the Fellowship took the rest they greatly needed, their hearts slowly mending after the loss of Gandalf, though Aragorn knew his own grief would never truly pass, for he found he would often desire advice from his old friend, of questions that remained unanswered despite the years they had known each other and where he could once find a gentle smile and quiet laughter usually accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe-weed, there was now silence and an absence that he knew all in the Company could sense.

Still, Amera's recovery allowed their minds something else to dwell and while he had initially been worried by the slowness of her steps, for her feet normally flew across any surface like water skimming over the smooth rocks of a stream, she steadily progressed as the elven medicine took its toll on her battered body. Within a few days, she was able to walk unaccompanied up and down the steep white stairs of the talans and a few days after that, with ease. After a full week since their arrival in Caras Galadhon, Frodo reported to him that he had spotted her training once more with a sword and he smiled, for he knew her restless spirit could not be content to simply sit and rest, though perhaps it was best for her. After all, when he had first truly met her, she had been gasping for air and kneeling in one of the marbled courtyards of Imladris, her dark hair streaming wildly about her face as she had pleaded for news of Frodo and Arwen. He sighed as he sat upon an abandoned balcony and looked out over the glittering lanterns illumination Lorien, twinkling like the distant stars as the quiet voices of elf-song rose to him and he longed for Arwen, her pendant cool against his chest. He found his eyes closing as his mind recalled their last meeting, of the tears of hope and of fear and of love that had shimmered in her beautiful eyes as his gaze had met hers on that fateful morning, connecting for one last moment before he had turned and followed Frodo. Her hair had so gently lifted off of her noble shoulders as the wind danced, her soft lips trembling so slightly as-

"You miss her."

His eyes opened as his revelry was abruptly ended and he looked over his shoulder, smiling faintly as Amera leaned against the smooth trunk of the tree. She was clad in an elven robe, her hair braided and straightened beneath the iron circlet, and for a brief moment she reminded him so greatly of his beloved that he felt a lump rise in his throat, but the image vanished as his eyes fell upon the daggers by her side and the high, sharp curve of her cheekbones. He was silent, choosing how best to respond to such a question, but she raised a hand, returning his own small smile. "I spent three days in the Trollshaws searching for you and the halflings with her. She spoke of you, Aragorn, and you need not hide your true thoughts from me."

"Then…then yes, I do miss her." He sighed and looked back once more to the beauty of Lorien, his heart aching for the cool of Arwen's hand to gently rest against his so that he might share such a sight with her. "I miss her greatly."

"She will wait for you, you know." His jaw was suddenly set as he froze, silent as Amera continued after a moment. "She loves you, Elessar, and no other."

He closed his eyes as he recalled the pain in her piercing eyes as he had tried to return her pendant, the way she had slowly shook her graceful head as she had pressed it once more into his palm, its serpentine edges imprinted on the soft flesh of his hand as he had gripped it tightly. Aragorn looked over his shoulder to reply, but she was already gone, cloaked by the shadows of Lothlorien.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"Where ever are you taking me, Pippin?" Amera raised a brow slowly as Pippin hurriedly dashed through the fallen leaves, clearing enjoy the fresh morning air as he practically skipped through the forest ever. Amera, however, had been less than pleased at being abruptly awoken from her slumber by two beaming hobbits. She yawned and tousled her hand sleepily through her hair as she followed them further and further down the dirt path, accompanied on either side by young mallorn saplings who had yet to spring their first leaves.

"Boromir showed it to us yesterday! He found it when he walking about, I guess." Merry shrugged.

"Yes, he said he had tried to find you to show it to you, but you were hiding from him in the armory when he came round to see you." Pippin calmly recollected and winced as he received a sharp elbow to the ribs from Merry, who glared while Amera turned a sudden shade of crimson.

"_Anyway_," Merry growled as Pippin guiltily rubbed his side, "It should be just around the corner up here, if we've got it right."

Amera sighed, grateful that the conversation had changed its subject, and decided to be grateful that she had worn leggings this morning instead of the numerous dresses that continually appeared in her room, laid out carefully for her to wear, which she did gratefully, but nonetheless secretly yearned for the freedom of robes. Her feet padded gently against the dirt path as Merry and Pippin had lead her forth from the city down a path that seemed long forgotten and her initial instincts were confirmed as they had yet to meet a single elf on their short journey. It was a beautiful day, however, for the evening before rain had graced the leaves of Lorien and mist now curled over the rocks and ground and that beautiful, earthy smell that accompanied showers was evident.

"Here we are!" Pippin proudly exclaimed as he rested his hands over his chest as her eyes widened in disbelief once they had turned a sharp corner. A small waterfall fell from a sharp, sudden cliff fall into a small pool that encircled a small bit of earth, the soft sound of rushing water comforting to her ears as she took a tentative step forward, convinced her eyes deceived her. But, after a few blinks of utter disbelief, she let out a small gasp as she recognized the statue that rest in the center of the pool.

It was a woman, certainly young, clad in a tattered robe that swirled around her ankles and her waist as if brushed by the breeze. Dark, wavy hair tumbled from beneath her raised hood and framed a fair face marked with grief, the eyes closed in great sorrow. Her feet were unclad against the small stone pedestal on which she stood, her hands placed open by her sides as if in prayer. Time and age had worn the statue so that the stains of rainwater appeared like streams of tears down her marble face and Amera shuddered deeply as she stared at herself. She remembered so very little of her wanderings and was grateful that her mind had spared her from reliving such pain, but was nonetheless unnerved as her sufferings were carved expertly into stone, an eternal reminder of the overwhelming grief.

"It's you, isn't it?" Merry softly questioned as he came to rest beside her, recognizing the emotions that flickered in her eyes as she stared at the statue. She nodded, laughing quietly in disbelief as she murmured, "It looks exactly like me. The sculptor should be proud of such work."

Pippin shrugged from beside her, casting a glance over the statue before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Amera raised a brow as she looked to him and he blushed slightly, shifting his weight as he carefully chose his words. "Maybe it did, once, I suppose, but you're not like that all. This person looks, well, rather defeated, I'd say, and you're certainly not that."

She was silent for a long moment, a small smile appearing as she murmured, "Is that what you think, Pippin?"

"Absolutely."


	20. Of Heartbreak & Hope

**Author's Note: And I present the chapter I know you've all been waiting for! Much thanks to Certh, my unofficial beta, who has always given me detailed feedback about the progression of the story and who inspired me to keep this tale going when the perceived lack of interest nearly caused me to abandon it. Also, as I've seen other authors on this site do, I've decided to start up a tumblr with some of my inspiration for the story, primarily music, pictures and quotes from all sorts of different places, so I'll be posting a link to that shortly. Last but not least, enjoy the chapter!**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Amera shivered as the cool breeze danced against her revealed shoulders, the loose fabric of her airy gown swirling behind her as she stared out into the night. Her chest rose and fell silently as her eyes flickered over the intricate pathways and terraces that connected each tree to their partners, lit by soft, pure lantern light and what starlight passed through the thick, golden leaves above. She had long since undone the intricate braids that a handmaiden had so carefully weaved through her hair; the delicate circlet lay against a stone bench, pinning dark ribbons beneath as her hair fell freely over her shoulders as she stood in the moonlight.

She glanced over her shoulders as she heard the click of boots against the tiled pathway that led to her balcony, but turned to face the sleeping city as she caught the piercing gaze of Boromir, who softly approached. From the corner of her eye, she could see how very tired he was, his proud shoulders even more burdened than when he had first arrived in Lorien a little over a week ago. He looked different to her, strange as his familiar hauberk and cloak were replaced by elven robes of a dark blue, which contrasted rather starkly against his auburn hair that brushed against his strong shoulders as he quietly approached. She said nothing as he stood beside her, resting his hands on balustrade as he too looked out over the quiet beauty of Lothlorien.

After a few minutes, he finally spoke, his jaw set as continued to look out. "You hurt me with your silence, Amera."

She paused, her voice barely a whisper that was nearly carried away by the soft breeze as she replied, "I assure you that was not my intention, my lord."

He sighed and faced her, something like anger in his voice. "My lord? After all this, Amera, I would have thought you would at least do me the honor of saying my name, no matter what you may think of me. Even in Rivendell, all those months ago, you did not laud me with titles I deserve not, even at our first meeting."

She was silent as she remembered that night, what seemed so very, very long ago, as he had watched her from the shadows and looked at her in that way she could not understand, as even now she could not comprehend the emotions that surged both in his voice and deep eyes. Amera turned her head slightly, unable to respond and Boromir sighed once more, speaking with thinly veiled frustration. "I know your heart is heavy with grief, all of ours are, but why must you treat me with such distain?"

Amera flinched and drew back from his touch and she could see the pain in his eyes as she whispered, "It is not distain, Boromir."

"Why this distance then, Amera?" He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he continued, "Why after all that we have been through?" He paused briefly, taking a deep breath as his voice lowered and he looked to meet her gaze, "I would not see you so easily lost as a friend."

Amera's jaw was set as she suddenly turned away, her eyes fierce as her hands gripped the balustrade tightly, the wind brushing her hair off of her pale shoulders. She trembled slightly despite her efforts to hide her emotion, silent for a long moment as Boromir watched her. Finally, she suddenly spoke, her choked voice piercing the silence as she struggled to contain herself, each word an effort in itself. "Why did you carry me?"

He blinked. "What?"

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she repeated herself, emphasizing each word once more, "Why did you carry me after I had fallen?"

He stared at her in disbelief, then finally stammered, "I could not simply _leave _you there, Amera."

She turned swiftly on her heels to face him, her eyes blazing as she argued, her slender hands shaking visibly by her sides, "Yes, Boromir, you could have." He shook his head at her and she continued, her volume increasing with her rising emotion as she motioned to herself, "I am not the Ringbearer. I am not essential to this….this quest!"

Boromir looked furious at this, his own voice rising as he struggled to contain himself, "Of course you are, Amera! I have never, nor would I ever, leave a member of a company behind!"

"But I'm not part of the Fellowship!" She roared, tears welling in her eyes as he immediately grew silent, watching her deep pain reveal itself as she momentarily closed her eyes and a single tear glittered down her features in the starlight. She sighed, her head lowering in shame as she whispered, "I was never supposed to follow you, Boromir, Elrond told me my fate did not lie with that of the Ringbearer, that there were to be nine walkers to match the nine wraiths." She swallowed hard, her voice thick with shame as she shook her head, "But I did not listen. I thought I was more important than I truly was. I…I convinced myself, in my own pride," She practically spat the word, "that I was _something_, that maybe I could help, could shift the balance towards the light." Her voice finally cracked as she looked up to him, her flickering eyes shimmering with tears, "I thought I could redeem myself."

Boromir heard the utter heartbreak in her words, the sorrow and pain of a hundred lifetimes burdening the woman before him and he whispered, raising a hand once more to gently brush away her tears, "Amera…"

She recoiled at his touch, turning her head as she looked out once more into the night, tears flowing freely down her face as she was no longer able to hide her grief. "Gandalf is dead and it is my fault."

He suddenly understood her in that instant, staring at the woman before him, so fair and yet so broken, and murmured, "You cannot blame yourself for his loss, Amera…"

She turned back to him, her eyes blazing in the starlight as she shook her head, gesturing to no one particular, "_I _was careless enough to be wounded, _I _slowed down the Fellowship and in the end, _I _did nothing to save him, Boromir!"

He roared at her now, letting his emotions free as his temper flared, meeting her gaze with equal passion, "Would you have preferred I simply left you there, Amera, if I had simply left you to die?"

"Yes!"

He turned and slammed his hands against the cold stone of the balustrade, shaking with fury as he snarled, "Are you truly that foolish, Amera?"

She stared at him for a moment, a sob escaping from her throat as she cried out, her face shining with passion, "Why did you save me, Boromir?"

"Because my people need you!" She stared at him, her chest rising and falling as her eyes widened, a slender hand slowly moving to brush a loose tendril of air away from her eyes. He looked at her for a brief moment and their eyes met, but he roughly turned his head away, his voice was low and she suddenly understand his weariness, his broad shoulders weighed down, "It has been so long since Gondor had any hope, Amera Dagorwen." He sighed quietly, closing his eyes, "Pride is my weakness, I know this, but I am not too proud to see that the people of Gondor desperately need something, _someone _to inspire them, to give them hope as the threat of Mordor grows ever closer to the fair walls of Minas Tirith." His voice cracked slightly and she took a tentative step forward, her eyes growing soft as she gazed at him, "I…I thought that perhaps I could save her myself, that I could be strong enough, to be the one that led Gondor into a new age, one of prosperity, of joy, but I cannot be that symbol for even now am I tempted by that accursed ring, for with it I would see the glory of my people restored, I swear it to you!" His voice faltered as he sighed once more, glancing over to her slowly , " I am no strong enough, Amera, and for that Gondor needs you. I…" He swallowed hard, his emerald eyes piercing as he looked to meet her gaze, "I need you."

She stared at him, her head tilting slightly as his words sank into her understanding and after a long moment, he looked away once more, defeated. Amera bit the corner of her lip and took a small step forward, then another as she placed a trembling hand against the side of his face and gently turned his gaze to meet hers. She opened her mouth slightly as she searched for the right words and he watched her, motionless as her thumb gently curved along the proud line of his cheekbone. "Boromir," She murmured softly in her strange lilting voice and he looked to the ground. She moved her trembling fingers to sweep against his jawline, brushing against the neat, auburn hair that rested there as she whispered. "You do not need me." He looked up slowly and a bittersweet smile crossed her emotive lips as her pale gaze met his own, flickering water dancing against the proud hue of the earth.

"You doubt yourself, Son of Gondor, for you cannot see what is so readily apparent to all around you. You are a true warrior, as brave and as noble as any lord of Arthedain I ever served, and as such you suffer from their fear." She whispered and felt a shiver travel down her spine, for the words of Gandalf rang through her, the memory suddenly rising in her as she looked deep into Boromir's eyes, "There is so much _good_ in you, Boromir_, _and I would have you see it." Her voice faltered slightly, trembling with emotion as she gently stroking his cheek with trembling fingers, his noble features so very close to her own as she whispered Gandalf's promise. "Our fates are not yet decided."

They stared at each other and after a long moment, silent moment passed, she watched as his head tilted ever so slightly and she found herself mirroring him, his body acting of its own accord as she found herself lost for words suddenly, his eyes never leaving hers as she felt his breath brush softly against her lips. Her eyelids trembled as they slowly closed, for she knew what was to happen, and a second later his lips parted her own as they kissed beneath the veiled starlight of Lothlorien. It was tender enough to steal her breath away, but yet there was desperation in it, as well, for their grief was still yet great.

She pulled away after a minute, taking a slow breath of the cool night air as her forehead rested against his, the bridge of his nose brushing hers as he too steadied his rising and falling chest. Her eyes were half closed as she slowly brushed her fingers through his auburn hair, closing them entirely as he whispered her name. Amera trembled freely, for she had never known the softness of another's lips, nor the tenderness with which he had quietly uttered her name. Fear, hope, lust and something else she could not yet name surged through her like in great waves and yet, once more, Gandalf's voice whispered through her head, his last true words to her.

_Let go of your fear, Amera._

And Amera did, for she shifted once more and kissed him with renewed passion, his assertion overcoming her inexperience as her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

OOOOOOOOOO

Boromir had known the touch of others in his youth, more than he knew he should be proud of, but as Amera's lips parted his own he marveled at her as his calloused fingers slowly wove through her shining hair, brushing the sides of her slender neck. Her lips were so cool against his own and he needed her as her fingertips brushed so lightly against his face; kissing her was like drinking from an icy, fresh spring after weeks of journey and he pulled her close as the kiss deepened further. He suppressed a small moan as she sighed his name breathlessly and he felt her tremble in his arms as they both received what they had desired for so long, though it had been hidden from them by the weariness and sorrow that burdened their hearts. He felt himself losing control as he lost himself in the kiss, in her touch and scent and feel, but suddenly tasted the saltiness of her tears.

He gently broke the kiss and stared at the maiden before him, his eyes softening as he took her in. She was so very pale in the moonlight, her lips slightly reddened as her cheeks were flushed with passion, but her eyes shone so brightly and beautifully that it stole his breath away. She was so strong and yet so fragile, he realized as he gently brushed his lips against her few tears. She whispered his name once more and he held her close as he drew her head to his chest, closing his eyes in comfort as his arms wrapped around her. He stroked her hair, his eyes closing in peace and in comfort as he let her weep quietly into his chest for the loss of Gandalf, Earnur and the burden they both shared.


	21. Golden Slumbers

Sam sighed as his stomach growled hungrily yet again, this time louder than before, and his shoulders slumped as he turned the corner of the talan to discover that the kitchen he had certainly expected to be arriving at was, in fact, not before him. "Stupid big ole' trees," He huffed, turning in a circle aimlessly as he tried to gain his bearings once more. They had been here for two weeks, which had gone by exceptionally fast in his opinion, and he still found himself hopelessly lost every time he ventured unaccompanied, mistaking one great white trunk for another as he wandered beneath the gilded staircases and glowing lanterns. He did know, of course, that the elves that passed him would gladly help him if he were to ask, but every time he would stop to ask for directions, he found himself blushing and stammering as he looked into their fair, shining faces and would shuffle away after a few, failed, attempts at forming words much to their amusement.

However, he paused as he noticed the sound of clashing steel, though it was far off. Intrigued now, for the elves of Lothlorien certainly seemed to entertain themselves with producing beautiful crafts than practicing swordplay, he decided his stomach could wait just a bit longer. He ambled towards the sound, lowering his gaze shyly as a few elves greeted him in his passing. By the time he reached the top of a flight of wooden stairs, he was out of breath, doubling over as he wheezed in the fresh morning air. The noises were quite close now and he carefully walked across a bridge that spanned between the enormous branches of two trees, willing himself not to look down, lest he feel all prickly and nauseous as he had quickly learned the effects that such heights had upon him. Far away from the most populated area of Caras Galadhon now, his curious was certainly peaked as he peered into a small courtyard, framed and hidden by golden mallorn leaves that obscured its entrance.

Sam carefully brushed aside a few leaves, keeping his body flattened against the outside wall as he discovered the source of the clamor. He sighed with disappointment as he realized it was simply Boromir and Amera sparring and he decided that perhaps they had patched up their little tiff, as Pippin as declared a few days ago, but he had never really understood why they had been angry with each other in the first place and, to be perfectly honest, he really did not care. Boromir was nice enough, but Sam had grown distrustful of him over the past few weeks, not liking the sly looks he would cast towards Frodo when he thought no one was looking. And Amera…well, she was just Amera. She was a bit too odd for his liking, with her shining eyes, sudden changes of mood and daggers that were drawn far too quickly for his taste. She did tell good stories, though, that was certainly true, but she was quite queer and that did not sit well with him.

Still, he decided with a small shrug, he could at least watch them finish the fight and then continue on his quest for a mid-morning bit of refreshment. Not wanting to interrupt and ruin their concentration, he silently watched as Amera twirled and spun with her strange daggers against Boromir's steady, strong blows with his longsword. They appeared to be evenly matched, with the attacker suddenly having to switch the defense every few seconds and from the sheen of sweat that appeared on both of their foreheads, he knew they were aware, as well. After a few minutes, he decided to silently cheer on Boromir, for he remembered how Amera had embarrassed him the last time they had dueled. Amera's hair was fashioned into a long braid, which flew around her head like a whip as she grinned and twirled her daggers around her wrist as they both took a step back to catch their breath.

He felt himself gasp as Boromir suddenly lunged forward with a cry of triumph, but Amera's laughter filled the courtyard as she immediately spun to the side, a dagger both parrying and twisting his blow, which set him off balance briefly. She took this advantage and struck forward but was forced to the defensive once more as Boromir's strong blow met her own. They continued in this way for a few more minutes and he found himself captivated, for they were both great warriors, anyone who watched them would certainly agree, but their preferred styles were such very different yet equal in their power and finesse.

However, she suddenly cried out and fell to her knees, her eyes closing in pain as she dropped her weapons and pressed her hand against her side. Boromir immediately rushed beside her, kneeling and rest a hand gently against her shoulder as Sam struggled to make out what they said. He carefully placed his longsword aside as she took a few deep breaths, worry evident in his face as he stated something, watching her closely. Sam blinked in utter surprise as Amera's hand suddenly flashed and before he could even blink, the slender edge of her dagger rested against Boromir's throat. Boromir raised both brows at this and she smirked, rising with a small wince as he rolled his eyes, clearly unpleased with the result of the contest. She gave a small, mocking bow and turned to retrieve her other dagger but Boromir laughed and grabbed his own sword, lunging towards her as she laughed and parried it, their battle beginning once more.

Amera's aching side slowed her down, Sam saw, and her dancing blades slowed as she struggled to catch her breath. Boromir grinned wickedly as he began to drive her on the defensive, his attacks no less fierce than before, despite her weakened state. He gasped as Amera froze, her back suddenly against the wall of the talan as Boromir laughed in triumph, his chest rising and falling as his free hand rose to wipe away a line of sweat from his brow. Though he was still unable to make out her words, he knew Amera conceded the victory as she slowly lowered her daggers to the ground and Boromir mirrored her bow from earlier with a proud smirk, setting his sword next to her.

Sam rolled his eyes at this, for he did not care just how old Amera was exactly or whatever battles she had been in, or claimed to, for all he truly knew, he decided that Boromir was getting a bit too much pleasure out of beating a woman and a wounded one at that. However, his eyes narrowed as the captain of Gondor's expression suddenly changed as he grew very close to her, resting his arm above her shoulder as if to trap her against the wall. He strained to their words and quietly cursed when he was unable to, though he watched Amera put her hands against his chest as if to brush him away, though Boromir did not move. In fact, Sam saw with rising anger, he leaned in very close to her, no doubt threatening her as his face was suddenly just before her own.

"The scoundrel!...," He whispered to himself, feeling his hands curl into small fists as he realized that Amera must be too weak to push him away after such a duel. He prepared himself to intervene on her behalf, for as much as she made him uneasy, he was certainly not going to be witness to such a tomfoolery. However, before he could reveal himself, his jaw dropped in shock as Boromir suddenly kissed her, taking his free hand to cup her jaw as he pressed his strong body against her own. Now, utterly horrified and convinced he was seeing an assault take place, he began to brush away the thick branches and leaves that had previously hidden him, but froze in confusion, for Amera made no effort to fight back against her attacker. In fact, he realized as he felt a blush hurriedly creep into his cheeks, she appeared to be quite alright with his advances, judging back the fact that she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. Simply blinking as he found himself unable to turn away from the two, he instead shook his head in disbelief as Boromir gently pulled away from her, a small, affectionate smile crossing his features as he rested his forehead gently against her own. She smiled back at him and softly brushed her lips against his briefly once more before resting her head against his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her slender form.

Sam received the distinct impression she was not entirely surprised by his actions.

Rather unsure of what to do, but completely determined to not be discovered by the two, he dashed away as quietly as he could, deciding as he nervously glanced over his shoulder once more to be sure he had not been discovered, that perhaps Frodo would know what to do with such information.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_He knew it was cold before anything, shivering as his hands traveled to his ragged robes, pulling them tightly around his shivering frame. He blinked in his confusion and looked around, his eyes widening as they followed the trails of smoke slowly rising into the blackened sky, which writhed with thick, dark clouds that threatened not rain, but coils of lighting accompanied by the low growl of thunder. The sun itself struggled to pierce the inky blackness that veiled its light and he understood that he would receive no warmth from the sky above as he turned to face the scene before him._

_ What had once been pure, shining marble was now stained with blood and filth and he struggled to determine where he was, though the empty courtyard before him certainly rang familiar to him as he struggled to see past the heads and forms of the crowd gathered before him. He brushed past those who surrounded him, silent and blank as he cursed with the effort. However, he froze as an icy voice suddenly rang out, terrible in its dread and pitch, at once both a roar and a hiss. "My gracious lord hath provided entertainment for his subjects, for whom he doth care greatly!" The voice laughed and he felt a shiver roll down his spine as he moved to where he could see the entirety of the courtyard and what greeted him was more horrifying than he could even have imagined in the darkest depths of his nightmares._

_ Four wraiths, their midnight cloaks swirling around empty forms, stood around a blooded stump, their gauntleted hands clutching terrible swords as they held them in waiting. His eyes fell to the pathetic stump of what had once surely been a great tree, now reduced to a ragged edge as its white pores were stained red with dark crimson._

_ And then he knew it was the White Tree, deep in his spirit, and that he was standing in the ruined courtyard of Ecthelion in __**his **__beloved city, now ravaged and laid to ruin. He wanted to cry out, to fall to his knees in utter despair for the fall of Gondor, for the corruption of what had once been a proud symbol of hope for his people, a promise that one day the glory of Numenor would be restored and shine greater than ever before._

_ Yet there appeared to more wraiths at the end of the courtyard, dragging a figure between them. As the prisoner grew closer, Boromir felt immense pity rise in him and momentarily distract him from the utter despair that threatened to overcome him. Greasy, stringy hair fell over emaciated shoulders and hid his face, though Boromir winced as he saw the sharp angles of bones through the filthy rags that clothed the man's body. His feet left a trail of blood as he was dragged roughly across the courtyard, connected to feeble legs that had no doubt been broken judging by their terrible, disjointed positions. The figure remained silent, his head drooping forward in profound exhaustion as it was slammed against the bloodied stump. Boromir's eyes slowly traveled over the figure and he decided that death would no doubt be welcome to such a piteous creature, their skin blindingly pale and covered with burns, sores and other signs of torture that Sauron's lackeys had no doubt taken joy in giving. _

_ One of the wraiths stepped forward, the wind picking up suddenly as Boromir shivered both in fear and in cold, its dark robe flowing freely as it called out once more in its great and terrible voice, "Watch now as your hope fails!" He watched as the gauntleted hand slowly drew its blade from the sheath, readying it over the poor soul's neck and he wanted to turn away, but found himself frozen. The frail shoulders of the man shuddered as if from a sob and it suddenly lifted its head in one last act of defiance, the gaze meeting Boromir's._

_ "And so passes Aeliniel!" The deafening roar ran through the courtyard and Boromir cried out as the flickering , beautiful blue eyes that had so comforted and captured him time and time again were now lifeless; shimmering emotion replaced by dull, blank misery. He cried out once more, but it was too late for there was the sword arced effortlessly through the air and a bright flash of crimson, so horribly, sickeningly brilliant against the grey and filth that it nearly blinded him._

_ "__**Amera**__!"_

"NO!" Boromir sat up suddenly, gasping for air as hot tears stung his eyes and mixed with the beads of sweat that poured down his face. His chest rose and fell swiftly as he blinked, struggling to erase the nightmarish images seared into his mind as he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as the night air comforted him, the raucous snores of Gimli immediately reminded him that he was safe beneath the ever-reaching trees of Lothlorien. He drew a deep breath and looked around and was surprised to see that his sudden cry had not awoken any of the sleeping Fellowship around him.

He rose as quietly as he could, retrieving a pitcher of water from across the glades and dumping it over his head as his breathing slowly calmed. He shook the cool droplets away with a few quick shakes of his head, looking up into the glittering branches that rose above him, searching for Amera's quarters among the hundreds of intricate balconies and delicate bridges that spanned the night sky. Fully awake now, Boromir felt terribly restless and knew he would not be able to return to sleep, for no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on something, Amera's defeated gaze pierced his mind's eye. Growling quietly, he rubbed his temples in anger as he strode aimlessly through the wide glade for a few minutes, cursing at his inability to erase the horrors he had witnessed in his dreams.

After a few more minutes of restless pacing, he found himself ascended the swirling staircases that led to the next level of the forest, knowing he could not even hope for rest unless he saw Amera. He began to run, his bare feet quietly padding against the walkways as he hurried towards her rooms, nestled against the proud trunk of a great tree and framed by the golden leaves that fell in a constant, beautiful descent from above. After a few minutes, he finally reached her and slowly looked through the archway, sighing in comfort as her sleeping form was nestled between silk sheets.

He leaned against the doorway, his heart swelling as he watched her. Her bare shoulders had slipped from beneath the fabric of her nightgown and her hair fanned around over the pillows as her chest slowly rose and fell. A soft smile crossed his face as she shifted slightly, kicking the sheets from around her bare ankles as her feet appeared. She rubbed her head against her pillows and curled up, completely at peace in her slumber. Boromir took a few steps forward, watching her as he did his best to remain as silent as possible so as not to disturb her slumber, for he knew she rarely received it. He gently brushed his hand against the curve of her cheek, the strong arch of her cheekbone prominent against his fingers as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He breathed her in as his lips pressed against a stray tendril of her dark hair, his eyes closing in contentment.

After a long moment, he finally turned to leave but stopped as he felt something brush his hand. Confused, he glanced down and saw Amera's slender hand graze his as she reached out to him, mumbling sleepily, "Don't leave." He grinned at this and shook his head, whispering, "I apologize for disturbing you, Amera. We shall speak in the morning."

"Don't leave." She whispered once more and slid her fingers against his, her eyes still closed as she shifted slightly, leaving a space beside her as she kicked away the sheet to allow him entrance. Boromir felt himself blush at this and did not know how to reply to such, but finally stammered, "I should not think this proper, Amera. You need your rest."

Amera opened her eyes, slowly blinking away the bleariness with great difficulty, though her voice displayed her amusement as she murmured, perking a brow towards him, "After all that we have been though, you truly think I care about propriety, Boromir?"

He paused, looking over his shoulder to the doorway, then back to the space Amera had cleared for him and decided, knowingly against his better judgment, to join her. Sighing, he slid in beside her and tentatively lifted the sheet to cover them. Amera shifted and he froze as her head was suddenly resting against his chest, her slender arm crossing over him as she curled against him. After a moment, Amera opened an eye and abruptly questioned, clearly confused, "Why are you wet?"

He blushed once more, then quietly, and lamely, offered, "I was not careful?"

She gave a quiet snort of derision at this, but nonetheless closed her eyes once more and rested against him. Despite his initial discomfort, for he feared himself as he felt her heart beat softly against him as her chest rose and fell, he quickly found himself growing sleepy in his comfort. His current resting place was certainly more comfortable than the blankets and rather uneven ground of the glade that had been given to the male members of the Fellowship and he slowly gathered the courage to wrap an arm over her, closing his own eyes as his thumb brushed gently against the hand that was placed tenderly against his torso. He shifted his head very slightly and planted a kiss against the dark curls of her head, which rose and fell with his breathing as she rested against his chest. Her feet brushed his and he smiled in his comfort, slowly drifting into a sleep free of any burden as his last thoughts were of the proud, delicate creature that lay beside him.


	22. The Choice of Amera Dagorwen

The next few weeks passed by in a blink of an eye, filled with light, laughter and the slow easing of grief from Amera's heart, though she knew that she would forever feel his absence, for she often found herself thinking of his riddles through which he would present his gentle wisdom. But, the infectious joy of the hobbits distracted her when sorrow once more burdened her spirit, laughing and relaying some of the wonders they experienced beneath the golden wonders to her day by day. And at night, after the rest of the Fellowship had begun their slumber in the small glade beneath her talan, Boromir would sneak away and visit her, crawling in bed beside her. She would tell him of the kings she had once served, for he greatly desired to know of the lords of Arthedain, and in return he spoke of his younger brother, who Amera knew he loved greatly, and of the shining walls of Minas Tirith.

More often than not, they would find themselves surprised by the sudden rising of the sun, the soft light of dawn streaming through the thick branches of Lothlorien as they would lose all sense of time as they grew closer to each other, the rising and falling of his broad chest beneath her head slowly becoming a familiar comfort. Yet, the last night before they were to leave Lorien, she found herself awakening for no particular reason, blinking as she looked around the room with half closed eyes in her bleary confusion despite her great attempt to achieve as much rest as possible before tomorrow's journey.

Boromir stirred beside her and she smiled as she watched him, brushing a stray lock of copper away from his eyes as he mumbled incoherently. He was a true warrior, she knew, and her heart fluttered when she saw him grin proudly when Merry and Pippin challenged him to test their rapidly increasing skills with a blade, the way the defined muscles of his back rippled as he allowed himself to lose, laughing deeply as their disbelief and thrill as they tackled him. They had decided to keep their, she struggled to find the right word, _relationship _quiet from the rest of the Fellowship, though judging by the venomous glances Sam would inexplicably cast towards Boromir, she suspected that he had somehow figured out their secret. Nonetheless, either the rest of had yet to catch on or, if they had, they simply chose to remain silent on the subject, much to her enormous relief.

Still, she cherished her time alone with him and the way he looked at her with his proud, shining eyes after their kisses had subsided, the strong arch of his nose resting against her own as he held her close. He was careful with her, she knew, for she too feared the strength of her passion should it remain unchecked and their kisses would often end abruptly as each would blush with embarrassment and look away momentarily. Once, his lips had slowly strayed to her neck and she had frozen, terrified by the sudden emotions that surged through her, trembling as his neatly trimmed beard tickled her delicate flesh. He had rapidly apologized as he felt her tense and she stammered her own apologies for such a reaction as they rambled incoherently for a few minutes before realizing how ridiculous they were acting. Still, seeing him now, so peaceful and free of burden as he slept, was enough to take her breath away for a moment as she watched him.

Amera then carefully rose, trying her very best to not disturb him as she pulled back the sheets and slipped out of bed. He grumbled at this, reaching for her as she laughed quietly, brushing her hair over her ears as she brushed her lips against his, whispering, "Shh, I'll be back in a moment." He rolled on his side and she decided that perhaps that was his form of a farewell and pulled a loose set of robes around her nightgown, running a hand through her tangled hair as she silently strode out onto the balcony that overlooked the forest floor. And there, waiting for her, shining radiantly in the pale moonlight, was the Lady of Lorien.

Amera was silent for a moment, rather surprised, but remembered her courtesy and quickly bowed her head, raising her hand to rest against her heart. Galadriel watched her for a moment, her piercing eyes revealing no emotion as she stated in her silvery voice, "Aelinel."

Amera watched her for a moment and saw that such pretenses were not necessary, finally asking quietly, "Why have you come, my Lady?"

"Do you know what will happen, should the Ringbearer fail in his quest?"

Amera blinked once, surprised by the unapologetic bluntness of her question, but she nonetheless answer, meeting Galadriel's strong gaze with her own. "I have seen but a glimpse in my dreams and I am haunted by it."

Galadriel slowly walking to her, her sleeve billowing in the wind as she raised a delicate hand to brush Amera's cheek as her fair hair was stirred free from her shoulders. Her touch was cool and Amera did not move as she plainly stated, "You are not of flesh and blood, Aeliniel. This is not your true form."

Amera's jaw set and she replied swiftly, each word deeply personal. "Yet it was given unto me."

The Lady of Light removed her hand, something like sorrow appearing in her crystalline eyes. "You will suffer greatly, should Sauron achieve his desired domination."

"All will suffer under such oppression, my lady."

Galadriel sighed, turning to look out over her realm, as radiant as the starlight that fell upon her. "But for you, Aeliniel, there shall not come the sweet release of death, nor any escape from the darkness that shall cloak this Middle-earth." She slowly turned her head to gaze at her, her voice tinged with grief as she continued, "Even after your fall, for you know the Dark Lord shall ever hunt you, no matter where you may flee, for you prove a great threat to him."

Amera stared at her and Galadriel elaborated, a small, bittersweet smile appearing on her breathtakingly beautiful face, "You have within in you such great hope, hope that terrifies him for with it you inspire the greatness of others, a challenge unto the despair Sauron wishes to drive into the hearts of men."

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes distant as she finally spoke, her words soft enough to be nearly swept away by the gentle breeze. "This I know."

Galadriel turned to face her fully, shaking her head as her words suddenly grew in power, "Ever shall the tortured cries of the barren earth and polluted waters haunt your spirit, for the earth will forever be tortured under Sauron's distain for utter life, until the very ending of this world."

Amera trembled slightly at her words, closing her eyes as she recognized her words to be true, terrible though they were. Finally, she swallowed hard and opened her eyes, her voice determined in its honesty. "I made my choice long ago, Galadriel."

Galadriel was silent at this, though Amera thought she detected something like pity in her pure features as the elven queen approached her, resting a slender hand against her shoulder. Her voice lost its shadow, now soft and caring. "The elves are leaving Middle-earth, Aeliniel, for we now our time has passed." She smiled faintly, "Would you not join us?"

Amera took a step back in surprise, unable to form words as she stared at the being before her with wide eyes. Galadriel saw this and extended her hand in comfort, her smile fading, "Your hope in Men is strong, valiant even, but I fear it is misplaced." She paused, nodding gently, "Take this offer, Aeliniel. Be free of your burden and escape what fate awaits you while you have the choice."

"You cannot offer me such," Amera protested, slowly shaking her head, "I am not first-born."

"You fought alongside the Eldar at Fornost and stood between one who had fallen and the Witch King of Angmar in all his terrible glory, willing to die to save, though you knew not even his name."

Amera was silent as she stared ahead, her words determined as she finally spoke, "My fate lies here, no matter what may come of the Ring."

Galadriel sighed once more, shaking her head in pity as she extended her hand to caress Amera's cheek once more, her voice a whisper, "Men are weak, Aeliniel, you know this."

She recoiled, looking at Galadriel with fierce eyes as she shook her head, her lip curling in anger as she passionately defended, "And therein lies their strength! Within their flaws lie the hope that they might overcome the errors of their past," Without thinking, she motioned to the talan behind her, towards Boromir, "To move beyond the failings of their fathers!"

Galadriel looked at her with absolute pity, her words filled with sadness, "They will fail, Amera Dagorwen, and their pride shall be their doom."

"You are wrong, Galadriel. They are proud, yes, but their hope will see this darkness overcome."

Amera stared, her eyes blazing as she drew a deep breath to try and calm herself, her face shining with passion. But, Galadriel shook her head, slowly stating, "You cannot save him, Aeliniel."

She paused, asking, "What?" But, in her heart, she knew of the meaning in the lady's words.

"You know of what I speak. Even now you see how weak he is, how close he is to giving into the seduction of the Ring."

Amera's jaw was set, her hands faintly trembling by her sides as she whispered, "And in time he will have to choose, as all men do."

"But," Galadriel watched her closely, raising a pale, slender brow. "Will it be the right one?"

Her voice was low in its finality as she replied, her eyes shining with a thousand conflicting emotions. "I cast my lot with that of Men."

Galadriel shook her head and Amera thought for a brief moment that she detected a small tear slide down the cheek of the Lady of Light, shining pure in the starlight as she whispered, "And so your fate is bound."

"As ever it has been."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Frodo watched Amera from the corner of his eye as Galadriel continued past the rest of the Fellowship, clutching the intricate veil tightly in his eyes. It was a great honor to receive such a gift, he knew, for rarely did the elven queen allow quests into her realm, much less bestow such heirlooms upon them. However, he could not help but worry for his friend, who stood beside Gimli silently at the end of the line, for he saw dark circles beneath her normally luminous eyes. She looked utterly spent, though he had thought out of all in the Company, Lorien had been the most refreshing to her and why, he had even seen her yesterday morning laughing and smiling. He decided something must have happened last night and took it upon himself to ask her later, when they might be given some privacy.

He could not make out what Gimli said to Galadriel as he focused his attention back the group once more, but smiled as he saw a blush appeared in the dwarf's ruddy cheeks as he shifted from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed. Galadriel laughed quietly at whatever he said and nodded before moving to Amera, who met her gaze with an absence of emotion.

Galadriel, however, seemed unaffected as she smiled graciously, her silver voice twinkling, "And for you, Amera Dagorwen, I fear I have no gift."

Amera smiled very faintly at this, lowering her head and quietly replying, "And I expected none, my lady. You have already shown me much kindness over these past weeks, a debt I cannot hope to repay."

Galadriel held up a hand, nodding to an elf behind her who stepped forward, holding a long, thin object in his arms that was hidden beneath a dark sheet. The Lady smiled widely, continuing as she retrieved the parcel and held it out to Amera, who glanced at it with both curiosity and suspicion. "Instead, I return to you that which was long lost. If fell from your hand long ago and came to rest upon the soft earth when last you entered these woods and as such, we have kept it in the hope that one day you might return."

Amera blinked, clearly confused as Frodo watched her carefully pull back the sheet, her eyes widening as a beautiful sword was revealed. Her jaw dropped as a small gasp escaped her lips, tears welling in her eyes as she carefully held the blade. Her eyes passed down the curved length of obvious elven design as her trembling hands wrapped around the dark blue leather of its hilt. Frodo was able to make out swirling runes down the length of the beautiful sword, which was surely ancient if Amera had once bore it. She whispered, her voice shaky as her eyes flickered with tears, "I had thought it lost…."

Galadriel smiled, clearly content with Amera's reaction as she murmured, "Many things once thought lost have been found, Aeliniel." Amera blinked and realized her rudeness, quickly lowering her head in respect and reciting what was no doubt a phrase of gratitude in Sindarin. Galadriel then leaned in close, whispering something into Amera's ear before smiling radiantly once more and taking a step back.

Amera's smile had disappeared, Frodo saw, and her jaw was set as she slowly tied the blade around her waist, sliding it carefully into its sheath as Galadriel's gaze lingered on her for but a moment longer. Something was bothering her, he knew without a doubt, and if Amera was affected by something, it was certainly enough to cause him worry.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Amera! Will you come teach Merry how to paddle?"

"I'm doing a fine enough job, thanks very much, Pip! Aren't I doing a lovely job, Boromir?"

Boromir blinked as the incessant splashing of Merry's paddle resulted in a surprisingly large amount of water to suddenly drench him, offering a rough, "Yes," before he shook his wet hair from his eyes. Amera coughed to hide her laughter, slowing pulling her paddle through the clear waters of the Anduin as the Fellowship continued their journey. Wedged between Gimli, who snored comfortably from behind her, and Legolas, who had never really been much of a conversationalist, she had entertained herself by watching Merry and Pippin struggle with the mechanics of canoeing.

Boromir, who had first seemed more than glad for the extra help they offered, soon looked profoundly trapped as he ducked to avoid to the sudden slashing of the oar through the air as Merry continued to push through the water with too much force. Despite the great difference in their sizes, Boromir had to increase the rate with which he paddled, to match the furious strokes Merry's oar cleaved through the lazy water. Because of this, their boat rather lamely floated down the river, continually veering off course and threatening to bump into the occasional rock or the canoe that Aragorn led, which sailed peacefully beside them.

It had reached the point where Aragorn and Amera were unable to even make eye contact, lest they reveal their enormous amusement as Boromir sighed with defeat and Merry proudly wielded his oar like a warrior. She rubbed her mouth to hide her wide grin, quietly calling to Pippin, "I should think Merry's doing a fine job, perhaps he might let you let you try paddling for a bit and Boromir could instruct you!"

Pippin beamed at this suggestion and Boromir cast a furious glance in her direction, which she returned with a polite smile. She turned her gaze to Aragorn and was unable to hide her grin as she watched his shoulders shake slightly from repressed laughter. Gimli's snores suddenly turned into a slight croak as he shifted and she cast a disturbed look over her shoulder as he mumbled something beneath his breath, his hand brushing his beard even in his sleep. Shrugging, she turned back to Legolas, who stared into the thick forest that lined the river with his pale eyes alert.

Perking a brow lazily, she coughed once, "Legolas?" When he did not stir, she coughed a bit louder, rolling her eyes as she questioned in Sindarin, hoping to gain his attention that way, "Legolas, what troubles you?"

He blinked once and slowly turned to her, his eyes distant as he leaned in to murmur, but was interrupted as Amera saw a miniature tidal wave suddenly appear out of the corner of her eye. She instinctively raised her hands to cover her head and was promptly soaked, her shoulders slumping as her hair was plastered to her head. As Amera slowly parted the wet curtain of curls that covered her eyes, Pippin looked down at the paddle in his hands and quickly exclaimed in his defense, "Boromir told me to do it!"

Amera perked a soggy brow as Boromir shrugged, attempting and failing to hide a smirk as he calmly stated, "I did not, I was merely helping Pippin with his lessons, as you had so kindly suggested."

She snorted at this, resting her paddle at the bottom of the canoe as she wrung out her dripping sleeves over the river, "How entirely gracious of you, Boromir."

He shrugged again, continue to paddle through the water amicably, "I read once that water spirits do enjoy the water, I should have you know."

"Oh truly?" Amera's voice dripped with sarcasm, "I had heard the men of Minas Tirith forgo education such as reading to instead practice with their blades. I am glad to see you're proved yourself to be the exception."

Aragorn choked on his laughter from the boat ahead as Boromir was unable to conjure a reply, lamely attempting a few sentences before sighing and turning his attention once more to the paddle that Pippin now wielded like a battle axe. Amera smirked to herself as she adjusted her hauberk and retrieved the paddle, though she glanced out of the corner of her eye to meet Boromir's gaze. He winked very briefly at her and she quickly turned her face to hide her blush, though a wide grin was visible to any who looked her way.


	23. Kings of Old

**Author's Note: The penultimate chapter of the first part of trilogy is finally here! I'm just in awe of the fact that I actually **_**made **_**it this far along, considering roughly two months ago this story was simply something to daydream over in dull classes to pass the time. As usual, an enormous thank you to everyone who has subscribed and reviewed, for your feedback does mean a great deal to me. Enjoy this chapter and look for the final one tomorrow evening!**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Amera cursed under her breath as she stumbled over a small log, hidden from her in the shadows, as she grumbled and looked for twigs to carry back the camp. While the day had been pleasant enough, the night air had grown chill enough to cause the hobbits some discomfort as they had crowded around the tiny fire Aragorn had allowed them to make, though he had certainly not been pleased with the idea. After the fire had begun to die, she had found herself unable to bear the profound looks of disappointment on the faces of the halflings and had taken it upon herself to go hunt for a bit more kindling. But now, as she continually found her ankles pricked by the odd bit of rock and brush underfoot, tripping over that which the moonlight did not illuminate ever few steps, she realized that searching for firewood in the middle of unfamiliar woods at night had not exactly been her brightest idea.

Carrying a few fallen branches under her arm, she squinted through the darkness and sighed with relief as she spied a small, dead bush. She placed her spoils beside her as she knelt and began to break off twigs, resisting a shiver as the breeze picked up once more. Cursing her unruly hair, she spat out a large lock that strayed into her mouth and shook her head. Ignoring the prickling of the bush, she hurried with her task as the cold set in and she too longed for the warmth of the fire that awaited her back at the camp.

However, a sudden crack rang through the forest from behind her and she froze, her eyes widening as she desperately hoped her imagination had simply played tricks on her. _Snap. _Amera bit her lip as she slowly set down what wood she had in her arms, furious with herself for leaving her blade beside the fire. What had she been thinking, trotting off into a dangerous forest armed with nothing but the occasional twig she scavenged? The odd crackling of fallen leaves became footsteps, growing steadily closer and Amera darted behind a tree. Pressing herself against it, she closed her eyes and focused her senses on the sound, not daring to risk moving her head for a better glance and thus reveal her position to whatever was hunting her.

The forest was silent once more and she ceased her breathing, biting her lip as she waited patiently. Then, after a few moments that seemed like an eternity to her, a large shadow passed by her hiding place and without thinking, she dove forward and tackled it with a cry. The shadow let out a surprised cry as it fell, taking Amera with it. In the scramble, her hand gripped around a small branch and she wielded it, attempting to look as threatening as possible, though she truly knew how ridiculous she looked.

The figure rolled over, rubbing its shoulder and Amera rolled her eyes as Boromir's piercing eyes were illuminated by the moonlight. She threw her makeshift weapon aside, sighing as she growled, "What are you doing?"

He sat up and attempted a sheepish grin, flicking his hair from away his face. "I thought I might of some help to you."

She crossed her arms, "And you thought the best way to be of aid would be sneaking up on me in the dark?"

"Well, I did not think it wise to simply roar your name in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night."

She brushed the stray leaves and bits of brush off of her hauberk as she stood and began to collect her scattered kindling, murmuring over her shoulder. "You're an idiot, Boromir." He laughed quietly at this and she could not help but smile as she felt his strong hands wrap around her waist as he pulled her close, pressing his lips into her hair.

"I missed you today, Amera."

She turned around to face him, perking a brow as she smirked. "I had assumed Merry and Pippin had kept you busy enough to forget about me?"

Boromir grinned broadly, shaking his head as his thumbs gently rub small circles into her hips through her hauberk. "Of course not. I had however," He raised his hand to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, "Hoped that we allow ourselves but a bit of privacy now."

She rolled her eyes, doing her best to hide a smile as she turned and began once more to retrieve her fallen twigs, "And here I had hoped you actually were here to lend useful aid. I should have known better."

Amera stifled a laugh as his hands wove round her waist and he pulled her close as she struggled in vain for but a moment, comforted by his strength in the unfamiliar woods, though she certainly would not admit it. She gave in to his embrace and turned to him, resting her hands against his broad chest and looking up as his playful grin disappeared. In that very moment, as the moonlight fell upon them and the wind stirred his copper hair, he looked at her with infinite tenderness, for the proud sheen of his eyes was now so very soft as he gazed at her, the noble tilt of his jaw replaced with utter contentment, she knew she could deny him nothing. She was silent she felt his calloused brush over the delicate arch of her cheekbone and as he whispered her name, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her as she kissed him deeply.

She momentarily surprised him with the passion with which her lips moved against his for he stumbled slightly, but as her back came to rest firmly against a tree he returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as his hands crept to her back, his stocky chest pressed tightly against her own as she gave into her own desires for what was the first time in her very long life. Always had the thoughts of her duty, of her vow to others, dictated her actions, but this, this moment belonged to her and Boromir.

He deepened the kiss as his fingers wound through her curls and she imagined the she could feel his heart beating as any space between them disappeared in their yearnings. Her own hands caressed the back of his neck and she was suddenly surprised as his tongue flicked against her lips, asking for entrance, and she moaned as his tongue stroked her own as she granted it, losing herself completely in the kiss. His experience was obvious as he guided her and as his lips shifted to caress the delicate skin of her neck, for she gasped and ran her fingers through his hair as she cradled his head. He groaned softly with obvious pleasure as his tongue traced invisible lines, her head tilting back in ecstasy for he was at once so strong and so gentle.

He breathed her name and nuzzled her as her heart pounded, his hands trembling with restraint as they rested against the bony arches of her hips and she knew how desperately he wanted her, for she had forgotten all but him as her heart soared with feelings she had forbidden herself to experience, her first true encounter with genuine desire enough to rob her of breath. She shifted and nuzzled him, pressing her own lips against his neck in return, her tongue coyly flicking just below his ear as he groaned deeply, his eyes closing as he tilted his head to allow her further access, which she readily accepted. His chest rose and fell with ragged gasps of passion as Amera's heart pounded with both wonder and joy at the effect she had on such a great warrior, this Captain General of Gondor, so proud and so noble breathing her name with unrestrained passion.

He waited for her permission, she knew, as his arousal was obvious to her as he shifted against her, responding with a low moan as she whispered his name. And she would grant him what he desired, for in that moment, she could think of nothing but the immense desire that flooded through her, driving all thoughts of any Ring and Dark Lord from her mind as her body yearned for what it had never known. However, as her lips brushed the tender space between his neck and shoulder, he gasped abruptly, "I love you!"

She froze, lifting her head as she trembled, unsure if she had heard him correctly in his passion. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sheen of lust as he took in her reaction. He raised a hand to cup her cheek as he repeated his statement, quietly as if understanding it for the first time, as well. "I love you, Amera."

She felt the hot, sudden sting of tears as she smiled and met his gaze, unashamed as the evidence of her emotions slowly coursed down her pale cheeks and whispered, "Boromir, I-"

"Amera!" They both froze as Aragorn's voice rang through the clearing, adding after a moment, "Boromir?"

Amera and Boromir looked at each other in panic, but she quickly put a finger to his lips and called out, "There you are, Aragorn! We've been searching for the camp for ages now!" She winced, then offered lamely, "It's, erm, quite dark!"

There was a pause and Amera cringed at her less than convincing story, but Aragorn finally called, "Well, return quickly, then."

Boromir sighed with relief, kissing the top of her head briefly as he teased; Aragorn's footsteps fading away, "Excellent little liar, you are."

"Shut up, Boromir." She rolled her eyes and absently smacked his arm as they picked the scattered firewood, blowing a stray bit of hair away from her face, "The poor hobbits will be freezing because of you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera slowly trailed her fingers through the water as the canoe silently propelled them forward, smiling absently to herself as little ripples descended from her submerged hand, disappearing as Legolas' strong paddles kept them racing swiftly down the Anduin. She had offered repeatedly to paddle, but he has simply shaken his head. Deciding not to press the issue, she had instead laid back and made herself as comfortable as possible within the tight confines of the vessel, considering Gimli managed to take up an absurd amount of space despite his lack of height. She had, at first, politely asked him if he might shift a bit and the huff and look she had received in return had encouraged her silence.

Now, she bundled her cloak and placed it against the side of the canoe as she curled up, closing her eyes in peace as the sunlight warmed her face and the icy water connected her to the earth as she rested. Her eyes grew sleepy as they trailed the line of the forest; ancient tree after ancient tree speeding past her in an endless pattern. She drifted off, lulled by the quiet sounds of the river and the occasional bird call as she rested.

After what seemed like but a minute to her, she received an altogether less than gentle nudge from Gimli and groaned, swatting him away sleepily. He chuckled at this, shaking her a bit as he murmured, "I think you'll be wantin' to see this, lass."

She slowly opened on eye as she yawned, but was immediately and fully awake as her neck tilted back to allow her gaze to span the enormous monuments that towered above her. Two kings of old, their hands outstretched beneath the folds of their robes as they guarded the northern border to Gondor as they gazed over the land. She had read of this memorial and had seen a sketch it of in one of the libraries of Rivendell, but could never have prepared herself for their sheer magnificence as the Fellowship slowly paddled closer beneath their shadows.

She felt what breath she had in her lungs suddenly leave as she was struck with fierce emotion as she gazed upon Isildur and Anarion, two of the greatest lords of Gondor. It was not enough for their glory to be passed down in stories and tales, no, for now they rested immortalized in stone, their crowns as intricately detailed as the layers of cloth that fell and pooled around their bare feet as they protected the entrance to the realm they had founded so many years ago.

"Did you know them, Amera?" Merry's awe struck voice quietly called out to her and she shaken out of her revelry, smiling softly as she looked to him. "No, they are far older than I am."

She looked to Aragorn, whose back was to her as his canoe traveled swiftly past her own, desperately wishing she could read his face as he looked at the images of his ancestors, to see the founder of his line and who's decision now guided their very quest. For Isildur had chosen to keep that which he had cut from the very hand of the Dark Lord in secret and, she knew, it had lead him to his doom. Now, three thousand years later, Isildur's Bane passed before him once more and she felt a shiver pass down her spine as his stone hand suddenly seemed to reach out in desperation for the Ring had once bore. But now, it lay against the chest of a halfling, so very different from the proud, grey-eyed lord that had taken up his father's mantle and ruled over Gondor.

Yet, she looked away from Isildur's looming figure and towards the curly head of Frodo in the boat before her, just like the ancient King, Frodo too was so greatly burdened by the evil of so simple a thing, such malice and heat trapped within the smallest of objects.

Frodo, she knew, was tempted.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Frodo watched as Amera carefully instructed Merry and Pippin on the best ways to parry, explaining, in detail that seemed to be rather out of their reach, that the best defense came from outthinking your attacker with each strike they cast. Judging by the evident confusion in their eyes, his cousins were clearly humoring Amera by feigning interest. Frodo knew they were tired as they had set up camp for the day along the rocky shore of the Anduin, for they all were after being cramped within such small vessels for hours on end, yet as she had excitedly offered to teach them, they had accepted.

Clearly, Amera wanted nothing more than a chance to grow reacquainted with her newly returned blade, for he had often spotted her slowly drawing it from its elegant sheath in unrestrained awe over the past few days, her stormy eyes flickering with old memories as she had tenderly drawn a finger over the swirling runes. Gimli had asked her what the runes meant last night around the campfire and had scooted closer in an attempt to catch a better glance, but Amera had distanced herself and simply replied that it spoke of fire and ice, of the water that was born of their meeting. Gimli had clearly thought this a bit odd as his eyebrows had scrunched together, but he nonetheless smiled politely and let Amera enjoy her reunion.

Frodo grinned a bit as Pippin kept glancing towards the small bundles of lembas, but Amera took no notice, blissfully content to explain the finer arts of swordsmanship to any audience she could find, wielding her ancient sword proudly. However, his grin faded as he became aware of a sharp gaze fall upon him and he shifted, uncomfortable as Boromir's piercing eyes were cast unashamedly towards him. From the corner of his eye, it appeared as though Boromir was in in very deep, conflicted thought, for while he initially appeared calm, beneath his features lay some sort of turmoil, some struggled that Frodo immediately recognized. His hands were clasped tightly by his knees as he sat, occasionally biting his lip as he swallowed hard and never shifted his glance.

Their eyes met for a moment and Frodo immediately looked away towards Amera, who was laughing as she avoided a clumsy swing from Merry. "Perhaps our Captain of Gondor might help you correct that swing, Merry." She glanced towards him and waited for a reply, perking a brow as none came for Boromir's attention was still focused singularly on the hobbit that sat across from him. She waited another moment, then coughed lightly, "Boromir?"

He shook his head and looked to her, blinking away his trance as he stammered, "What?"

Frodo watched as she cast him a strange look, slowly repeating, "Perhaps you could help Merry but for a moment?"

He paused for a long moment, as if he needed to let the question sink it, but quickly attempted a smile and stood. Brushing himself off, he laughed and ruffled Merry's hair as he drew his own blade, "Yes, let's see if we can improve that swing a bit more."

Yet, even as Boromir began to teach the hobbits he cared so greatly for, Frodo knew that Amera had seen the dangerous glint in his eye, the strange trance that had overtaken their companion as his gaze had been cast towards the ring that lay around Frodo's neck. He watched as Amera swallowed hard and faked a small smile as she watched them carry on, but he could see she was as equally troubled for she watched Boromir closely as if inspecting him for some sort of outward change that could explain his behavior.

But Frodo knew she would find none, no matter how hard she might look, for the temptation of the Ring that even now burdened his heart tormented the spirit, not the mind.


	24. True Forms

**Author's Note: Ok, so I lied with the last chapter. THIS is the penultimate chapter now, since I decided it would be best to split things up a bit for added drama and character development. As always, please leave reviews and most of all, enjoy!**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Frodo looked over his shoulder in surprise as he suddenly heard footsteps crunch over the fallen leaves, his hand instinctively drawing to the ring. He lowered his gaze as he saw Boromir approach, offering a faint smile as he carried a few logs in his arms. He bit his lip to hide his discomfort, his mind echoing the frightening lust that he had seen so briefly in the man of Gondor's eyes only yesterday, and decided that perhaps it would be best if he were to hurry back to camp.

However, as he turned to leave Boromir rested his hand abruptly on his shoulder, his smile forced as he nodded, "None of us should wander alone, you least of all." His smile wavered briefly, "So much depends on you."

Frodo slowly took a step back, shifting his gaze and Boromir repeated his name softly, questioning. When Frodo did not respond, now eager to return to camp and join the others, Boromir continued to step closer with every step Frodo made in retreat, "I know why you seek solitude." He attempted another smile and Frodo saw his hands shake slightly, "You suffer, for I see it day by day. Why must you suffer so needlessly? For while we have made mistakes in our path, that cannot be denied, there are other safer, routes that would see up to the Mountain of Fire."

Frodo swallowed hard, now frightened as that strange, unnerving sheen appeared in Boromir's piercing eyes. His voice was low, cautious as he softly replied, "I know what you would say and it would seem like wisdom," He looked away, his voice lowering to but a whisper, "But for the warning in my heart."

Boromir blinked, anger appearing in his face as he stepped forward and shook his head. His voice grew in power and frustration as he was no doubt offended by such an accusation. "Warning? Against what?" He sighed with something like disgust and Frodo felt terror suddenly rise in him as he vehemently defended his actions. "We are all afraid, Frodo, surely you know that, but to let that fear drive us to destroy what how we have?" He shook his head once more, staring at the trembling hobbit before him. "Do not see what madness this is?"

Frodo's temper suddenly grew, fueled by the whispers of the Ring that he clutched tightly, "There is no other way!"

Boromir froze, his eyes growing dark as he spat, "I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Frodo made no reply and he angrily threw down the logs in his arms, steadily approaching Frodo as his voice lowered, "If you would but lend me the ring…"

Frodo's eyes widening in horror, for he then knew that Boromir was taken, his actions guided by the yearnings the Ring placed upon his heart. He took a shaky step back, biting his lip as he began to search for Aragorn, anyone, from the corners of his eyes. His voice was not as strong as he wished, merely a whisper as he replied, "No."

Boromir paused, shaking his head slowly as he murmured, "Why do you recoil? I am no thief?"

Frodo shuddered as the man's eyes never left the Ring he clutched so tightly, his voice slow and low, as if in some sort of trance as he replied, "You are not yourself, Boromir."

Boromir sighed angrily, running a gloved hand shakily through his hair as he struggled to control his wavering voice, "What chance do you think you have, Frodo?" He spat, his rage slipping into his words as he suddenly roared, "They will find you! They will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end."

Frodo trembled, terrified of the transformation the Ring had cast upon the man he once called ally. His eyes, so proud and so noble, now glistened with lust and savagery. Frodo continued to step back, his hand tightening around that which he was sworn to bare and he cried out in fear as Boromir suddenly lunged forward, snarling, "You fool!"

But, before Boromir's hands could ensnare Frodo in his grasp, he saw a shadow suddenly dart from the corner of his eye, streaking towards them with inhuman speed. Crying out as he tripped backwards over a log, he instinctively slipped the Ring over his finger in his blind terror, gasping as the world at once shifted into shadow.

He felt a ripple pass through him, as if always did, when he wore the Ring; the world become hazy and faint, a blur of shadows and darkness. However, his eyes widened as they saw the figure he had seen tackled Boromir, but it was no longer the streaking shadow that had appeared from beneath the thick trees. Instead, it had transformed into a stream of light so utterly and profoundly pure it stole his breath from him and he could help but be transfixed as he shielded his eyes, for while it blinded him, it was something beautiful in this world so full of darkness. It seemed to battle against the darkness, for the twisted shadows that swirled around him moved towards it yet were repulsed, shrinking back as it seared by its heat.

And there, as his eyes adjusted to the stark white against the darkness around him, he could make out the form of a figure and he realized that it wore the light, clothed in it as purity streamed around it like the folds of robe. Boromir struggled beneath it but the creature appeared almost bored as it held him down with great ease, the tendrils of shining white that clothed it slowly streaming around its form. It moved as it submerged under water, folds of white swirling around its arms and neck as stirred by a gentle stream, forever in motion.

A hundred voices spoke out to him suddenly, pleading one over another in a soft cry that became one, "Go Frodo!" He gasped, for he recognized the voice that called out to him, filled such power and sorrow. This breathtaking swirling of light and hope, so ancient and so inhuman, was the friend who had walked beside him for the past four months, who he had laughed with and had slept beside as the cold wind had chilled him.

This was Amera.

He felt tears suddenly appear in his eyes as he was unable to comprehend the sudden deluge of emotions that swirled through him, of the battle that even know his spirit waged between the darkness and the light. The voices whispered to him once more as he stared at her with wide eyes, Boromir continuing to struggle beneath her embrace. "You must go, Frodo Baggins." He could not move, for he was utterly transfixed, and it seemed the form turned, as if looking over its shoulder to him.

And, for a brief moment, beneath the piercing light, he thought he could see the flickering, pure eyes of Amera meet his own as it whispered with only her voice now, familiar and comforting against the shadows. "Our hope lies with you, Frodo. Go now and may the light of the Valar shine upon you."

He whispered softly as tears streamed down his face, both from emotion and the sheer intensity of the light streaming before him. "Goodbye, Amera." Frodo then turned and fled.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera cried out as she tackled Boromir, slamming her small form against his with as much force as she could muster. He fell backwards with a loud roar and she gasped as his elbow slammed against the wound in her side, seeing stars momentarily as she blindly struggled to hold him back. He cursed as they collided with the ground and she wrapped her arms around him, crying out for Frodo to run as the pain in her side exploded in agony as Boromir fought against her.

She felt tears stream down her face as they struggled on the fallen leaves, gasping as Boromir's elbows and fists slammed against her.

"Let me go!" He snarled at her, the eyes once so full of love and gentleness now blazed with lust and rage as she refused to ease her grip on him, continuing to cry for Frodo to flee. He pushed back against her and her world was nothing but a rush of leather and the swift colors of fallen leaves as she restrained him despite his immense strength.

"Boromir! You know not what you do!" She sobbed in pain as his fist collided with her ribs, her head snapping back with the fury of his blow. Her grip on him momentarily eased as her vision swayed and he flung her from him with contempt, roaring, "And what do you know of this!"

She gasped as she was slammed against the rocky ground, her face buried by rotten leaves as she slowly turned her head. Boromir towered above her, his eyes terrifying as he strode towards her, roaring, "Gondor should have the Ring! You of all should know this!"

Amera felt the hot sting of tears slide down her face as she struggled to rise, managing to prop herself up on an elbow. She tasted the thick, iron essence of blood upon her tongue and wiped it away with the back of her wrist, looking up at Boromir from beneath stray, dirtied locks of hair. Her heart broke as the world slowed in her pain, her conversation Galadriel whispering through her mind as Boromir continued towards her, his feet moving in time with the slow rise and fall of her chest.

_"He will have to make a choice, as all men do."_

_ "But will it be the right one?"_

She looked up at him, her voice trembling despite her efforts to control it, her eyes reveal her heartbreak beneath the strands of hair that obscured her dirt-streaked face. Her question was so very soft, almost a plea as her voice cracked, "It will destroy you, Boromir, can you not see that?"

He looked down at her, his lip curling in disgust as he spat, "You abandoned Gondor, Amera!" He then roared, trembling as his hand rose and backhanded Amera's pale face, moving so swiftly she was unable to turn away. "You abandoned your people!"

She collapsed as the sound of his hand rang through the forest like a sharp crack, faded leaves entangling with her dark hair as she lay still, save for the slow rise and fall of her chest.

_"The men you so foolish care for are weak, Aeliniel."_

The Witch-king, Galadriel….they had been right. Boromir, so noble and so proud, a leader to his people and as true a son of Gondor as any who was clad in the White-Tree, had made his choice. He had been given a choice, as all mortals were, and he had chosen the darkness. Her utter faith, her hope that Men might rise above the struggle that surged through their blood, that defined them as truly human, to choose the light despite the great temptation of the dark, was wrong.

She was wrong.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Boromir stared in absolute horror as Amera lay before him, seemingly broken as her head lay unmoving against the dying leaves that carpeted the forest floor. He fell to his knees as tears poured down his face as the realization of his actions became suddenly apparent to him. He had tried to take the ring from Frodo who had sworn to protect with his very life, who had trusted utterly in him these many weeks and he had forsaken that promise in his lust for power.

He trembled as he looked around for Frodo, a sob escaping his throat in relief that the hobbit had escaped. Another sob rose as he released that the danger Frodo had so narrowly escaped, was simply himself. And there, before him, her pale features streaked with blood and dirt, blood that he had no doubt inflicted upon her as he had fought her, was Amera. Amera, who had curled against him as she had slept, whose deep kisses had caused his heart to soar, who had looked at him those shining eyes and a shy smile, lay battered at bruised at his hand. She had tried to protect him from himself, yet he could not see this as the siren-call of the Ring had blinded him to all but his need for its sorcery.

With trembling hands, Boromir pulled her to him and buried his head in her curls as he sobbed as he knew what he had done. He breathed her in, whispering as his voice cracked between his sobs, "Amera, I am so sorry. Amera, please."

She stirred briefly in his arms and recoiled from his touch, hiding her face from him as she struggled to stand with a sharp wince. He watched as she turned from him, her shoulders shaking as she whispered emotionlessly, "Return to camp. I will find Frodo."

He swiftly rose, running a hand through his tangled hair. "Amera, I…I was mistaken." She did not turn to him, simply walking in the direction Frodo had fled as he cried out to her in utter need, "Amera, forgive me! _Please_!" She slowly looked over her shoulder and her pale eyes met his and as he took her in he could not speak, any and all words were suddenly choked in his throat, for her right eyelid was already swollen from the blow he had delivered and he saw the beginnings of a deep bruise already setting in.

Amera's face was blank as she looked over him, simply stating, "You are forgiven." And then, he saw such great pain in her eyes that a sob tore through him for she looked at him with such profound disappointment, her flickering, unearthly gaze filled with such absolute sorrow that it broke his heart.

And she turned then, leaving him alone without another word.


	25. Tears of the Valar

**Author's Note: As I arrive at the last chapter of **_**Aeliniel, **_**I can't help but be honored by the kind reviews many of you have given me and the increasing number of subscriptions I've received. I hope those of you that have been following the story have been enjoying it as much as I have writing it, for I've found I've used this as an escape from stress when I need it most. I sincerely hope I've done a fair job conveying what is, in my opinion, the absolute most heartbreaking moment in all of Tolkien's work, if not any story I have ever encountered. I plan on posting a follow-up to this in the next few days, as a sort of epilogue, which will be entitled **_**Dagorwen**_**, so make sure to keep an eye out for that. Finally, thank to you everyone who has made the creation of this story so vastly enjoyable and I sincerely hope you enjoy its finale.**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Frodo!" Amera cried out, her feet flying over the forest ground as her cloak and hair streamed behind her. She focused her mind entirely on Frodo as she sprinted past rock and tree for she knew it she paused to reflect on what had just happened, she would lose herself in her grief and she could not afford such, not now, anyway. She took a moment to gather her breath back, resting against the trunk of gnarled tree as her side gave short, spasmic waves of pain. She winced, cursing under her breath as she looked around carefully, narrowing her eyes as she searched for any sign of the terrified halfling.

Luckily, the pain in her eye had yet to catch up with her, though the swelling had increased to the point of being an inconvience as she scanned the forest for a shadow, for anything that might give her some sense of where Frodo had fled. She allowed herself another moment of rest, then picked up her pace once more as she channeled her energy into her motion, jumping effortlessly over fallen logs and chunks of stone as her adrenaline kicked in. As the shadows of the afternoon sun grew longer and longer, she imagined she was running through Annuminas, as she had thousands of times before, and in her mind the fallen leaves became intricate marble tiles, the towering branches the sweeping arches of ancient buildings.

Even now, she struggled to contain her immense emotions, her heart longed once more for the serene beauty of her home as she struggled to forget Boromir's actions.

The rage in his eyes. The intensity of his accusations. The feel of his hand against her pale cheek.

Her spirit cried out to once more embrace the cool mist envelop her like a blanket, to breath in the leathery tomes of the library and to feel the cool water of Evendim dance over her skin as she was submerged, utterly joyous as the element of her birth encircled and caressed her. Once, so very long ago, she had danced and laughed beneath falling rain, barefoot and wild as she ran and could not be stopped. Once, her duty had been to preserve a city until its lord should return, a mere caretaker. Once, she recalled as she fought back against the prick of tears that stung her eyes, life had been so profoundly, humorously easy.

But, she reminded herself as she sprang over a log, her cloak swirling around her as she landed catlike and vaulted once more into a sprint, her duty lie with the Fellowship, with Frodo. Still, she wondered, ignoring the pain in her side, had she ever truly had a choice? Had there been some moment, no matter how miniscule, where a choice had determined her path? When had her fate had been bound to that of Men?

Had she ever truly been in control of her destiny?

Amera cursed herself, biting sharply down on her cut lip to focus her attentions once more on where they rightly belonged, on finding Frodo. After a few more minutes of frantic searching as she called out blindly for him in the forest, she came to a halt as a strange noise reached her ears. She pressed herself tightly against the trunk of a tree and reached her hand to carefully withdraw her blade from its sheath as she struggled to determine the source of the sudden clamor. Footsteps could be heard, growing louder and louder, and while she immediately attributed to the raucous footfall that normally accompanied Gimli, this was far too loud. Why, even the Fellowship running all at once could not generate this sort of noise.

Then, she heard the distinct scrape of metal against metal and froze in horror as loud, feral panting interrupted the silent forest, for all bird call had ceased as the clamor grew louder and louder. And, she knew with a sudden panic, that meant closer and closer.

She dove behind a rock and pulled her cloak tightly around herself in a desperate attempt to blend in with the scenery in the hopes she might be avoid as the loud grunts approached her, the clanging of armor resounding through the forest. She closed her eyes as the ground suddenly pounded beneath her slender body and she withheld a sudden gasp, for a terrible odor ravaged her delicate senses. Her eyes watered with the intensity of the stench that the creatures sprinting past her bore, but tasted bile in her mouth as she recognized it.

It was slightly different, yes, but there still was the thick, heavy scent of iron and blood, filth and mud as it had been all those years ago at Fornost. She panicked, trembling as she waited for the creatures to pass, glancing around the rock to make sure they could not spot her if she made a run for the camp. However, her eyes widened, for these creatures were different from any orc she had ever seen. Unlike the twisted creatures that had spewed forth from Angmar, broken and weak with their odd-angled limbs and dragging arms, these were horrifying tall with strong, broad shoulders; muscle and sinew rippling beneath their crude armor. Thick calves and iron boots trampled the delicate floor of the forest as they destroyed all in their way, grunting in time as they searched for something.

As they searched for Frodo.

Amera waited but a moment longer, watching as the last helm disappeared from view and sprinted as fast as her feet could carry her, flying over the trampled ground as she ran to warn the Fellowship of the danger that hunted for them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merry winced as a filthy blade swung past his right ear, ducking as he returned the strike with an awkward cut of his own. His small blade buried itself in the thigh of one of the orcs, who roared and staggered to the ground as his gauntleted hands clutched over the wound. He raised his sword once more, his arms aching with the effort, but Boromir's longsword appeared to finish the blow and he jumped aside as a head rolled at his feet. Pippin cried out from beside him, slashing wildly as the foul beasts continued to charge them, roaring as they sprinted down the small incline ahead.

He prayed that Frodo had escaped or had found Strider, Legolas…it mattered not, as long as he was safe. Even know, as the guttural cries of the orcs caused his ears to ache with their fierce intensity and he recoiled as blood spattered the air, he remembered the way his cousin had looked at him just before he and Pippin had left their hiding spot, the pain in his eyes as he understood their sacrifice from him. And, as Merry had sprinted across the forest floor with Pippin at his side, crying out for the attention of the monstrous creatures that hunted them, he knew that he would likely never see Frodo again. His friend, his cousin who had shared so many lazy days of the summer with him, who had laughed beside him in the smoky front room of the Dragon, he was gone. That quickly, he was gone to Mordor, to destroy a burden he should never have had to bear.

The noble call of Boromir's horn ended his thoughts abruptly, for suddenly crude sword arched towards his side and he swiftly parried, crying out as the force of the blow sent waves of shock through his weary arms as he angrily drew his blade through the gut of an orc beside him. The horn rang out again, it's baritone message echoing through the ancient trees as it traveled, searching for help. Merry turned and slashed and hacked, tears appearing in his eyes as he fought for Frodo, for each dead orc made the path to Mount Doom easier for his beloved cousin. From the corner of his eye, Boromir suddenly staggered, his strong blows faltering as his head snapped back as though he had been pushed by some invisible force. Merry blinked as he was unable to find the source of this pause, unable to look closely as his attention was needed for the waves of orcs that swarmed towards them. However…there, a slender line, unmoving against the whirl of dark armor and bloodied skin that moved in time with Boromir as his chest slowly rose and fell.

Merry turned to lend what aid he could, but the Captain of Gondor was already on his feet, roaring at that which he cut down only moments later, his sword piercing the air with the spattered blood of the orcs that fell before him. Lacking the time to be confused, Merry turned back once more and fought with all the strength he had, choking at the stench of the dead assaulted his senses. Boromir cried out from beside him and he turned, eyes widening as a sword arched through the air towards his neck, but Amera's gentle words of advice suddenly whispered to him, comforting amidst the clamor of battle. He raised his blade and twisted his wrist as Amera had carefully instructed and triumphed as the sword spun through the air, the yellowed eyes of his enemy blinking in confusion the blade of a hobbit appeared without remorse in the center of its chest. Merry struggled briefly to pull his weapon from the ribs of the fallen, but gave a cry of joy as he turned to his friends, for surely their victory was at hand.

But, it was not. For there, blinking in shock as he fell suddenly to his knees, was Boromir. Merry stared in confusion, for only a few moments ago the great warrior had been cutting down those around him with almost ease, his eyes blazing in the midst of battle. Now, he stared at his chest and swallowed hard, his eyes closing in pain and Merry saw the dark line from earlier was accompanied by a mate. Merry struggled to understand what was happening as his mind was numb from the fervor of battle but all at once, as Boromir's breath suddenly came in short, ragged gasps, immensely painful as he bit his lip to silence a cry, though his deep green eyes revealed his agony.

There, in the heaving chest of his friend, his protector for all these months, lie two arrows, their tips plunged deep into his ribs and what lay beneath.

Yet Boromir rose once more with a cry that terrified even the twisted creatures that rushed at him, his sword cutting mercilessly through all that were around him. Merry then remembered that he, too, must continue to fight and did so with renewed fury, blindly hacking at any movement before him. Still, his eyes trailed up the incline from which the orcs poured forth, widening in fear as they fell upon a horrifyingly massive creature, no doubt their leader or captain. Unlike the others, his head was unclad in iron, the image of a white, outstretched hand burned against his forehead and around his narrowed, yellowed eyes. And in his raised hands lay a crossbow, the bolt was slowly pulled back and readied once more for its arrow was no doubt intended to strike into the chest of Boromir as its peers had.

But, before he could cry out a warning, a sudden glint of silver shone in the afternoon sun as it raced towards the captain, who flinched just as his hand released the bow. The arrow soared through the arrow and Boromir gasped as it narrowly missed his head, streaking past his ear as he rolled to the side. Merry blinked in absolute confusion and looked up once more to the top of the hill, crying out in joy as Amera appeared, a blur of dark blue and black as she moved with inhuman speed.

Any trace of the gentle, shy Amera who had told him stories of the kings she had served, a noticeable blush gracing her fair features, was gone as her dark hair streamed about her and her battle cry rose about feral growling of the orcs that surrounded him. Yet, even from this distance, he realized she must have encountered the orcs on her way to aid them, for her right eye was swollen and purple, already turning black. Her movement with her blade, faster and more precise than even Strider and Legolas, was somehow slower, more strained as her attacks lost their elegance, though they cut through the orcs with no less mercy. There were no visible wounds that he could, but Merry saw that something was wrong with Amera, something tired her and pained her.

Her ancient sword cut through all that stood before her with no mercy, blood spattering her robe and pale face as she fought, roaring in defiance of the twisted creatures before her. However, Merry's eyes widened as the captain regained his foot and swiftly notched an arrow, aiming it towards Amera. He cried out her name and she looked up and shifted at his call, twisting her body to avoid whatever was coming, but it was not swift enough.

She took a step backwards from the force of the impact as the arrow lodged itself in her shoulder, eyes widening in pain. She faltered briefly and Boromir cried out for her, struggling to gather what energy he had left in his battered body to help her. But, Merry saw, it was not enough, for he stumbled and fell to his knees. A ragged gasp of agony escaped his lips and as he struggled to rise, he collapsed once more, chest heaving as his motions grew slower and slower, unable to do anything but watch helplessly. Merry saw hundreds of emotions flicker through his tired eyes; regret, fear and there, battling against despair, he saw love in the deep gaze of the captain of Gondor as he looked to Amera.

Merry then became aware of his own inaction as Pippin rushed forth from beside him, holding up his blade as the pain in Frodo's eyes at their parting flashed once more through his mind. He fought as quickly as he could, ignoring the screaming pain in his aching limbs as he raced towards Amera. He watched as the captain threw his bow aside and drew a fierce sword, his roar sending a wave of terror through Merry as it savagely battled Amera, who struggled to parry his strong blows as her chest heaved with effort. The sound of their blades meet rang through the forest; rigid, unrelenting iron against subtle, lethal steel.

He cried out as Amera suddenly gasped, doubling over in pain as her blade fell from her hand, bouncing but once against the forest floor before lying still. She swayed once as her hand moved to her side, pressing tightly against her not yet healed wound, the shaft of the arrow still lodged firmly in the pale sinew of her shoulder as she fell to her knees. Merry watched in horror as the orc strode forward, his thick, swinish lip curling with contempt as it reached its hand towards its throat.

He then heard the heartbreaking cry of Boromir from behind him as its fingers closed around Amera's throat, lifting her into the air with ease as it choked away what precious air dwelled in her lungs. Tears sprang to his eyes as he fought desperately to reach her, but knew he could not turn back the great tide that even now carried him. He, like Boromir, could only watch helplessly as her feet twitched spasmodically, her back turned to him as her hands tore at the fingers that encircled her throat. He sobbed for her as her strugglings grew slower and slower, the wicked grin of the orc growing wider and wider as he crushed the air from her.

However, just as he thought Amera could surely take no more, she made one last, determined movement. She kicked her right boot behind her back as she flailed and her slender hand strained to brush against it, but Merry saw the sudden glint of steel in her hand as he realized she had retrieved her last dagger. It flashed in her hand as it arced mercilessly to the throat of her captor, slashing a precise line beneath its jaw as its eyes widened with surprise. It roared in pain and Merry prepared for it to let Amera fall from its grasp, but it instead enacted its one last act of rage as its throat was cut, waves of blood pouring forth from the gap that now appeared in its neck.

It flung the now utterly lifeless Amera to the side as it fell to its knees, clutching at the crimson that spilled down its chest in vain. Merry's eyes widened as Amera's limp body flew through the air, her dark hair swirling so beautifully around her closed eyes, and he stood frozen in horror out as her head was slammed sharply against a massive boulder. A resounding crack rang through the forest as she fell to the ground, so perfectly still she appeared almost asleep, appearing as a beautiful doll save for the bruised eye and crimson pool that slowly increased around her head as she did not stir.

He stared in shock, unable to comprehend what his eyes told him was true, but his heart refused to believe. Behind him, the heartbreaking sobs of Boromir seemed distant as the world grew silent and slow, for he was entirely focused on the broken and battered form of the Aeliniel that lay before him, her delicate hand outstretched, frozen as it was slowly stained a dark, terrible red. Her loose curls mingled with the fallen leaves that dusted the ground like a quilt, vibrant against her black. Even this way, she stole his breath away, but her beauty was tragic, for as he looked at her he saw the remnants of the shifting emotions that had flowed through her flickering eyes, of the soft smile that could change so swiftly from shyness to unrestrained laughter, of the joy and hope that had so embodied his friend.

And then, the air suddenly changed, rippling with energy as it did when just before a thunderstorm. The hairs on his arms stood as the afternoon shadows suddenly slunk away, chased by the clouds that appeared overhead as the sun was hidden. He looked upwards, as did orcs that surrounded him, his eyes widening as the sky grew gray, thick with teeming storm clouds that had not been on the horizon but moments earlier. The world itself seemed to slow as he tentatively outstretched a hand, his eyes widening as a single raindrop fell upon it, glittering before breaking apart into a thousand droplets.

The rain then began, millions of droplets descending at once so that what he saw before him became a streaming mass of grey and shadow, dark objects shuffling with blurry forms through the curtain of water that drenched them. He felt strong arms reach around his waist and he struggled, crying out as the sweet rain poured into his mouth and slurred his words, his vision obstructed by the curls that now lay plastered before his eyes as he writhed in the grips of his captors. Still, the rain fell with unrelenting force, both chilling him and warming him with its strange force, unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

As he was carried away from Amera, losing sight of her behind that great, grey curtain, his eyes widened as he saw Boromir. Tendrils of auburn hair fell over his eyes, glassy and distant as his chest moved so very slightly now, ragged gasps erupting from lips stained dark with blood Merry cried for him, wrestling a hand free and reaching out to him in one last attempt as the raindrops slid from his fingertips. Boromir's eyes widened as he strained to reach forward with what effort he had left in his dying body, for Merry now saw he too was nearing his end, and for a brief moment their fingers brushed.

But it was not enough, for he watched as Boromir gasped with pain and fell to his side, unmoving as the rain poured down on him and slid down the shafts of that arrows the pierced him. Merry sobbed emptily as he watched the body of his friend lay so very still, just as Amera's had, and he cried out for him over and over again despite the rough hand that wrapped around his mouth as he was carried away. He struggled fiercely against the iron grip of his captor, the rough edges of crude armor cutting his skin as he writhed in defiance, salty tears mixing with the sweet rain as they slid down his cheeks as Boromir too disappeared from sight, lost to the rain.

He gasped in pain as the back of his head was suddenly struck, his vision wavering as tendrils of darkness appeared on the edges of his vision. As his eyes slowly closed, he imagined he could hear the sound of weeping intertwined with the rainfall, so pure and mournful that his heart broke anew to it. The earth itself, his heart told him, cried for Amera and Boromir, for their striking, noble faces so still as they had laid broken, surrounded by that which they had slain.

The sound of crying grew louder as the sweet, strange rain poured over him, wrapping him in a soft blanket to protect against what lay before him, and he knew then that the earth itself wept for the breaking of the Fellowship; it's quiet, heartbreaking sobs ringing through the silent forest.

But the pain in his head grew too great for him to battle any longer and he gave into it and knew nothing more.


	26. Important Author's Note

**Author's Note**

**The first chapter of **_**Dagorwen**_** has just been published and picks up where the last chapter of **_**Aeliniel **_**left off. **


	27. IMPORTANT NOTICE

For those of you who still read this, I WILL BE UPDATING LATER THIS WEEK! Yes, after much time and thought, Dagorwen, the sequel to this, will be updating and continuing.


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